Hereās something most people donāt know. I spent years more bird than girl. Ruffled at any unexpected touch. Flinching at loud sounds. Staring at the sky on bus rides, out classroom windows, dreaming of flight. No airplanes for me, oh no. I wove a word world of post-modern angels, wrote Ā so reckless I smeared the side of my hand with ink, walked the halls stained by my daydreams. But when I closed my notebook, took my eyes off the clouds, I was once again featherless. Tattered Allstars heavy on the concrete, bars of hard reality around me.Ā
Fast forward. I meet a boy who sits in trees just because he feels freer there. Who scales walls for the focus of a challenge and the satisfaction of going farther. Who says being up high feels like breathing. Who wants to sky dive, climb cliffs, leap from buildings. Watches driving rain, and lightning storms, and me, with a hungry intensity. Anything for that rush.Ā
Ā I call him an adrenaline junkie, but the truth is heās also in love with flight and lacking wings. Iād give him all the feathers I find if it would give him what he longs for. But for the first time I want something more than freedom. When he holds me, I feel more girl than bird. I whisper: You make me feel safe. You make me feel free. And he whispers back: I donāt want to let go.