We have something to learn from

(the toddler who smiled

while he peeled his banana

and ate it in five bites

and gave us all high fives)

(the lady with orange glasses gray hair 

kind smile said she liked me that smile

said it all)

(the girl on facetime can hardly hear what I said

but she's smiling anyway)

(the kid who smiles with his eyes

crinkled even if it's not that funny

he tries to find joy

he helps us find joy)

those of us who smile

(when we don't want to

to)

At dusk, the city climbs into trees. Streetlights fold into branches; apartments blink like nesting owls. Commuters dangle from vines in tailored suits, sipping moonlight through trembling leaves. You knock on my bark-body, and I let you in. Inside, my ribcage rings with cicadas who know what happens next. We speak in pollen and prophecy. Beneath us, ancient rivers chant our forgotten lexicons like we'd even care to remember what was lost. When morning comes, the city yawns, stretches its roots, and sinks back into concrete skin. We pretend it never left. But I still cough up twigs. I still dream in chlorophyll. You still whisper in leafspeak: "we were wild once." And I believe you.

Rori Acher is eighteen years old and dying. Any licensed medical professional would pronounce her perfectly healthy. But there are many ways to be dying that are not physical. 

Rori knows exactly what her future will be and this is why she is dying. Adults tell teenagers to plan out their lives. This is in fact the worst advice you can give a teenager. It takes the mystery out of life. 

Humans aren't supposed to have their weeks and months and years and lives planned out for them. They aren't supposed to follow the ringing of a small metal and glass rectangle for when they should wake up, get to work, pay the bills, get groceries, see other humans. 

Rori is dying because she is trying desperately to be an adult at eighteen.

The problem?

She feels everything nearly all the time, and the minds of adults just can't cope with that. Why else do you think we age to quickly and die so slowly? Everything inside us simply doesn't fit. We weren't meant to carry it all, at least not carry it alone. 

Especially when you are eighteen and feel everything. 

This is why the incredibly rich, in their fancy apartments and expensive clothes, and first class seating are in incredible pain. You simply cannot carry a life by yourself...especially if it is your own. 

It's just we've forgotten that uncomfortably close quarters and awkward conversations will save us in the end. If we have them. If we are willing to see each other.