Build My Wings On The Way Down

And when you kiss me in my neck

How can you know that I'm smiling?

Trust. What is it, really? Another clichéd word to help us stay naive, to help us avoid the idea of selfishness. Somewhere, we're still children, and want to believe in the fairytale, in the perfect endings.

But was there ever a word such as perfect? Am I the only one who keeps getting hit by something that degrades it, as soon as I get even close to the sense of that word...? Maybe the only thing for us to do is to stagger on the border between disaster and utopia, never coming close to either end, no matter how we paint the image of that world in our minds and hearts.

I want to be naive, want to believe. I want to smile because of nothing but a rainbow in the sky, the thought of a castle and a unicorn. I want to be who I used to be, who never bowed to angst, but made my own joy.

Have I based too much of myself on others? All awhile I strived not to, all awhile I tried to stay independent. Yet a word that is spoken or left unuttered can be the difference that makes me fall, can be the blow that strikes me to the ground or elevates me towards the sky.

Have I forgotten the face of my father, as Roland would have put it; have I forgotten what made me survive through the days; do I no longer know what my aims were, what made me lose myself in time?

I want to think I still have it in me, I can still do it. That sometimes you have to take the leap first and build your wings on the way down. That sometimes all you need to get by is find what makes you lose your grasp of time, and entwirl yourself in that, holding on to the moment.

To the long second that is our present.

POET in the GLASS JAR

Crossreferenced from allvoices.com