I am often not who I think I am. 
When I was in 6th grade I counted birds
out of the bus window on my way to school. 
I dreamed about flying as much as falling from high places. 

Today the lunch lady smiled back
when I said: "thank you". 

Today, music resonated from the cardboard speakers
like a tired bee
and became little more than my miracle. 

He is a flash of wild hair and flailing arms
and freedom that washes away down the white hallway,
flooding every imprisoned brick with electric orange. 

If he was a paint color his name would be "Awake". 

I wanted to join him. 
I wanted to find joy in simplicities,
like cafeteria music on a Monday afternoon.  

He probably used to count birds too. 
He has already become my lighthouse.