I was walking on clouds.

The wind carried me and I believed it to be true. All of it. Every piece of me grew tired and I kept my eyes open for the world. Hungry and disastrous and out of my fucking mind- but the clouds felt so good when no one was yelling for me to come down. Finality was far and everyone was healthy and laughter grew louder and louder.

Now- I lay in graveyards and whisper secrets to your bones. And everyone has to choke out a word of remembrance whenever they hear about my visits- like a stamp of approval. A condolence. A prayer. A reminder.

It’s none of those things: it’s the way the grass doesn’t grow fully where we buried our favorite part of the story. It’s how the sun manages to shine when I walk up to the stone. It’s that moment of silence as I’m walking through the last cloud that carries me back down to earth. My hands are open- arms reaching- my mind is racing back to the start and I surrender to it all.

And, one day, when everyone asks where I’ve been. What I’ve been up to. How I’ve been holding on.

I’ll tell them I was walking on clouds. AMT