I wish I were the ever-changing sky,
shifting hues without hesitation, turning, moving, never staying still.
It does not wait for anyone, nor does it shrink itself for what has already passed.
But I am small and starving,
like a bird perched on the edge of what was.
I peck at crumbs, hoping for more but never asking.

I fly, searching every corner, only to find the same stones.
I turn them over again and again.

How unkind I’ve been to myself, letting my wings grow weary
and my heart reach this point of exhaustion.
But how could I build a nest to rest when home stopped being a place?
Was I too weightless for the wind to carry?
I wanted to be heavy enough to leave an imprint,
to become more than a memory lost in the breeze.

Let me be the sky.