I can only hold on so long, like slips of paper in your hand. I am not chained down to you or this life; I am freedom. I'll never grow the wings of a bird or butterfly, or be above this world like clouds in the sky, but I am not sedentary. I am not a tree, but I am grounded. I'll stay until I uproot or am uprooted, taking with me the seasons and their grace, the apple blossoms behind my ears, and my withered arms from too harsh a winter. I am imagination and spirit, I am essence. I am beyond this world in eyes and heart, in the scars and hairs that cover my body; I am the remains of humanity, where humanity itself lies within my ashes.