It touches so softly I and barely feel it. Like a tickle down my spine.
Over under, in and around, up and down.
I made a choice when I chose, and I told them, I told them I couldn’t be more than one.
But here I am, trying to be four or five, sometimes six.
I’m nearing breaking point.
And I need rain. And a walk.
Will you take me?  I’ve been meaning to ask you.
It’s a treat because I just became seven.
I’m sorry? Do I bother you?
Deal with it.
It flutters so softly, and I can’t tell where it goes.
But I know its not here and I’m reaching breaking point.
I made a choice, I told them, and somehow I’m seven.
Why can’t I just be me?