and sometimes, things sound like a figment of a fertile febrile imagination like stories we tell our kids to put them to sleep. you say i dream too high i expect too much a man or a woman cannot have wings all the time it is physically impossible get real get real you sigh there are no princesses and no castles and this is all there is and all that one can be one already is go hang on trees on the edge of the precipice and let the wind blow you away so that for a moment a single moment you can believe all your imagination that one can fly but when you come back to earth stop it for at least as long as your bruises heal and your head gets set right and you see what is and not what you think it is.

and i sigh and i say to myself that one singular truth.

that i’ve believed in you for far longer than i’ve known you.

and when there’s a contest between believing you and believing in you there always is only one winner.

and that winner will drag you across the finish line so that you can start over while i clap from the sidelines

having done nothing. but just believed.

 

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