I’m throwing fists at the sky. I’m not waving, I’m begging for you to come back. Feel a piece of my spirit leave break away like a branch and roam through the town I grew up in- trying to find familiarity. I love that part of me too much to ever hold it captive, so I let it go. I’m not crying, I’m drowning in an ocean my tears created. The saltwater tastes sweet and I soak it up until I can’t feel a thing. My mom tells me that my eyes grew mountains behind my pupils- says I need rest. I told her I’m still climbing. I’m not falling, I’m flying, after all. And when another piece my spirit decides to leave, I’ll be ready. Hands raised. Ready to fight it over and over and over again.