lucidity 2014

Remember Remember

Do you remember floating?
Not like a red balloon floats, tied to the backrest of a blue chair at a child’s birthday party. I mean floating like diving into water, locking a breath in your lungs and between your teeth to take it down with you, down to where the water stops and the ground begins. I mean floating like turning onto your back after you reach that spot and looking up, watching shards of sunlight dance all around like fish.

I mean floating like you want it.

I mean floating like you belong there.

Do you remember floating at night?
Right above your mattress while the moon watches clouds dance and stars collapse and die. I mean the feeling of being almost, just almost asleep and so light that your weightless mind could lift your body and let the blankets barely graze the sheets, let your hair barely tickle the pillowcase.

I mean floating like you’re meant to be.

I mean floating like you belong there.


Do you remember that moment in the sunset when the day is red and pink and golden, edges dipped in light and dark blue, sprinkled with newly born stars and decorated with pearly-white clouds and iron-black shadows? When your hair is fighting with the wind and your voice laughs before it’s taken away to play with the breeze and kiss the treetops.