paper girl

I had tried to forget about the paper box I hid, which almost blew open in the summer wind. I tried to gently shut the lid; maybe a few hot drops of tears would moisten its seal. I intended to find a pool where I would squeeze just a few drops, but the city would not spare any. I thought I had buried the box at home, beneath blankets that I held dear and dared not wash. Over the past few months I tried to smooth out the blankets without actually entering the room filled with sunlight that looked like dust. I told myself I would not go too far as long as my precious cloud was buried deep in the forest. Yet here I was - finding myself atop little mountains, when all I ever wanted in life was a still sea. In a recurring dream every little wave I discovered hit me just to whisper what I couldn’t have. And by the time I dove under each wave to find this still sea, I realized it was just a frozen mirror where I could see myself so clearly. And when I woke up this time around, I looked into the far off distance and saw the tall tan buildings on the polygon-shaped islands. Swimming there under the introspective sun, I felt the clear lines that held together crystal waves over my body. I had cut out the dots and lines that connect actions to realizations so well that I didn’t know how to accept anything as my own. I only knew how to release but not keep any feathers I caught and nurtured in my palm. I would reach the islands alone. Goodbye to the soft dove, whose feathers stain a sanguine promise of forever.