I Dream Of Flying

We thread our fingers together and I smile as you and mom swing all our arms backward and count to three slowly before shouting jovially “Weeeeee,” as you send me high into the sky.

I come back down, and realize I’m not a child anymore, and you’re never going to hold my hand again. You’re never going to lift me high again.

You both feel it’s your job to plant me firmly in the troposphere, my dreams forgotten.

I sit alone in this baker’s oven of a bedroom, my skin slick with sweat and my mind thick with hatred and loneliness.


~ by Jen on August 3, 2011.

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