shivalihp

I still dream about that year. 
I still can remember everything there: 
The sight, sound, smell, everything. 

With every year that goes past, 
I hold the memories closer and closer to my heart. 

"You're changing," I whisper to myself.  

"So am I," whispers the wind.  

I think change is good.  

Change is the way the air cools at night.  

Change is the way I'm back at school again.  

Does the orange leaf feel fear before she falls?

Or does she feel freedom, happiness as she floats 

For the first and last time?

Like a lamb to slaughter.

It is the summer before my freshman year of high school. I greet the world as one would a new friend. Possibility stretches from all directions, reaching out from my pale skin and dissipating into the cloudless sky.

Take me on a drive. 

I'll roll the window down, 

stick out my hand, 

let it 

soar through the air, 

fly on the speed, 

fly on the wind.