I feel the wind crash against my skin,
enter my nose and into my lungs. I am
alive today. My eyes are fixated at the thought of
those Narra Trees, standing proudly
in the backyard; how the wind rustles
with their branches; how the noise becomes
music, whispering through my ears. I feel
safety. Safety, like the way I lay
at my hammock—the way I trust
the ropes with an arm-strength
of a man; how they held me so high
that I could touch the sky, like freedom
soars across horizons in form of contrails.
Today, I feel love
and I soar to the
Universe.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
I feel the wind crash against my skin,
enter my nose and into my lungs. I am
alive today. My eyes are fixated at the thought of
those Narra Trees, standing proudly
in the backyard; how the wind rustles
with their branches; how the noise becomes
music, whispering through my ears. I feel
safety. Safety, like the way I lay
at my hammock—the way I trust
the ropes with an arm-strength
of a man; how they held me so high
that I could touch the sky, like freedom
soars across horizons in form of contrails.
Today, I feel love
and I soar to the
Universe.
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