A Distraction

The other day I imagined that I could fly, and I was awake, and I almost did. But then my mind flinched and I remembered that humans don’t fly and I felt an overwhelming sadness.
I blinked and the world stopped. The largest bee in the world was next to me and I wasn’t afraid because there was a glass barrier, so I watched him clean his wings of the droplet of rain water that seemed like a tidal wave to his tiny, fragile body. It was beautiful.
My eyes cannot see anymore, like they used to. Now they are tired, cynical, holding strangers at a distance. My back often feels too exposed, too vulnerable. Three men walk past me, behind me, engaged in conversation and paying me no mind. I tense, ready to fight, I forget that my nails are not claws and I flex them. I prefer a brick wall behind me at all times. I open on the aggressive.
My height and frame betray me, I am often jostled and disregarded, so my temper flares. I set my jaw, lift my chin, brighten my eyes till they blind and I make myself heard, early on. Ignorance is impossible when faced with a feisty temperament.
The other day I was running and my heart did not hurt, did not flutter and make me gasp, and I laughed and forgot my mortality for a moment.
I turn my head quickly to the left and see something that escapes the corner of my eye.
Memories kept above the spine, behind the eyes, between your upper and lower levels of consciousness and awaken deja vu. At times, you don’t even know what you’re talking about. At times, someone else takes control of your body and creates something beautiful. Can you take credit for it?
I saw an old beagle walking itself around its front yard, blind and arthritic, already knowing every inch of its territory but guarding it and exploring it faithfully. Humans don’t understand this.
I think of you, but I don’t even know who you are, what your face looks like. You are important, but I don’t know why, a catalyst in my world and still I’ve never met you and I wonder when I will. Sometimes I dream of you, and my heart aches. You smell of home and lilacs, and I don’t know your name.
Someone told me to write as much as I can, let my thoughts and steams of consciousness ebb and flow until I am satisfied in my deepest self. I wonder if it will lighten my body until I forget that I cannot fly.

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