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To be so little with dreams that tower over you at night, dreams so big they’re bigger than your mom and your teacher and the dad you wish you could say you had and all the people who try to crush them. So big they won’t fit in your town or your city, spilling out of your closet.
Definite, so definite that they have a spot in the dictionary. They’re something that no word can describe, something with infinite definitions. It’s something that you can’t explain but know. So fixed they have a place right next to you and way past fail and wrong and fiction and maybe even right. Maybe they’re two wrong turns in the wrong direction from fact and fun and true and present and reality. Maybe they’re right there as a synonym to dream, that doesn’t have its own word because they’re too small to be on their own page with their very own spot. Or, maybe they’re so big they’re the whole book from front to back, from one after the other only ending with you.
Maybe they’re so big they make everyone around you cry, maybe they’re mean and intimidating and explosive like all the other towering things in your life. But…. No. They’re soft and gentle with some sandpaper edges. So accident prone they bring tears to everyone’s eyes, your bones shatter and burst into all the people you care about. Your bones implode on themselves and still make everyone but you sob and wail.
I wonder if one day you’ll find it again in a time capsule stuck in between the fall trees or maybe you’ll always have it, never lose it, keep it in your hood every day. Maybe when your hands are all wrinkled and the cold doesn’t feel the same anymore you’ll look back on it or maybe you’ll look forward to it because you never caught up or maybe it never left you, maybe it’s in your rocking chair next to you or under that tree beside you.