three-thousand miles away on a barren planet where kaleidoscope skies paint murals of the aliens.
a town where all your friends’ families are also yours, unchained doors down every street.
the narrow concrete block where you imperialize balance to rollerblade under the stars.
driving up to the cactusless-pine tree-waterfall part of the mountains at one in the morning keeping watch over your humble city til sunrise.
the Thanksgiving cacophony that fills you up with helium.
a getaway spark inside where the decision to leave doesn’t even crack the foundation.
the morning drive through a dusty pink fog that forces you to inhale magic in eclipsed shards.
a single confident star burning over the freeway to signal some divine quest.
that airplane ride where the lady shuffles through her Grand Canyon photos first and her family strife second.
where her trauma spills over on your seat and you feel honored to mop up the discharge with a smile.
that second airplane ride where the man proudly flaunts his daughter’s magazine debut.
where he constructs a monument to your own dreams, playing a surrogate father for three hours.
your mom’s voice on the other end of the phone when you realize transition isn’t just a story-telling device.
tossing handfuls of guess-and-check seeds out your comfort zone window since friends don’t pop up uninvited like wildflowers.
sporting neon shades and a loud scarf because the earth isn’t wearing a single uniform.
tears going chameleon behind summer sweat as you as you struggle to keep that lonely
emotion crackle out of your voice in public.
bus rides to nowhere that you and your only friend take just to play strangers in a strange land.
traveling down a road only read about in fairy tales that narrows, that forces you to join hands as you both plow head-first.
a stand-off with statues, dead as wood in a parking lot bench, that you just can’t seem to win.
the last resort ginger ale party with those girls just as lost as you, all the more relatable because of it.
laughing to the point of ab workouts at least three times a week, a fountain bubbling over.
submitting to spontaneity one rainy day, no jacket and no inches separating four damp eyes.
the weekend where you stay up every night discussing life in code with strangers turned familiars until you’re tired-drunk.
when you barely mind climbing hills anymore because you know at the summit sits something worth seeing.
finally figuring out that vulnerability bonds stronger than facades ever could.
waking up feeling warm in the face of an achromatic arctic wind.
where the ominous foliage beckons your adrenaline soul.
forgetting inhibitions, remembering to jump.
an infinite mirror mapping the way.