Soft Landing

How lucky am I to love?

How lucky am I to feel?

For the most part, when things are new and unknown I can never sit still–I can never just be.

I’m working on this, I whisper to him.

I’m crying about this, I confess to my friends.

Air is so charged and electric.

I’m drunk and I’m falling.

No one told me that growing up wasn’t about getting my driver's license or getting the job.

In my mirror, it’s all about mindfulness.

It’s my little sister’s cat passing away, my father’s hair turning gray, and my grandmother's house on the market.

I don’t see a smile on the recipient when I spend $60 for three items and I’m obsessed with finding a sense of style.

It’s driving myself to work, and packing my own lunch without eating any breakfast.

It’s the music that blares through my headphones as I walk to class.

I try to keep my cool.

I try to remain unseen.

But then I see greensprout from the cracks of the concrete and I’m smiling.

It feels so nice and cold to be alive.

It’s the sudden sad goodbyes and my first loves that are wiped off clean.

It’s the red wine on a Friday while dancing in my purple-lit room.

It’s sizing up in jeans and wondering if things will ever not move.

Oh, but Hawaii?

Right.

You’re here about Hawaii.

It was an absolute bloom.

It was summer in the winter.

Sunrises while still dark, and tons of laughter under the moon.

My friends are the beam. The passing of a Truly.

Friendship to me has always been clear and the complete opposite of blue.

They’re home.

The drain when I’m drowning and the cracked cocoon.

My heart is so swollen.

I'm safe to say.

I’m no longer my own.