She’s the sky—
vast, open, always there.
Painted in shades of morning and dusk,
drawing my eyes up without even trying.
Something about her,
something that makes you reach for her
even when you know it’s impossible.
And then there’s her—
the bird, gliding through her air.
Darting between clouds like she belongs there.
They fit so perfectly
It almost hurts.
I watch from below,
neck strained, chest tight,
wondering why it can’t be me she carries along.
Why can’t I be the one soaring beside her,
sharing that expanse
instead of staring from the ground?
Why can’t we be that close,
so entwined that she never wants to let go?
Why can’t she look down and see me,
scrambling just to reach her?
I’ve climbed every hill,
scaled mountains till my fingers bled,
just to feel near her.
But it’s never enough.
The sky stretches on—
endless, indifferent.
I fall short every time.
It’s not her fault.
She doesn’t see me bleeding myself dry
just to be near her.
And the bird finds her
like it's the easiest thing in the world.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck down here,
hands scraped raw,
legs trembling from chasing something I can’t touch.
And now, here I am.
At the edge of the highest peak I could find.
On the verge of falling.