And then, standing alone, I lift my arms as if to fly away to heaven. I tilt my chin up, up and the wide blue sky leaps into focus. The sky seems the last freedom, the last wild place to be explored, ever changing like the ocean but infinitely less predictable. There is no strong attraction to swimming in the open sea, for me, but the sky has a relentless pull. Always I have longed to swim in the sky as I do in the ocean, endless waves of clear-blue air in which to roll and dive and climb and spiral and soar. This has been my recurring dream, to be able to leap into the air and not be forced back to the earth still longing for the open sky, but to keep going, up, up, until I turn to see the earth below: houses, trees, people, all minute and unreal, far away and unable to drag me back down as they so easily do now. My crystal vision is abruptly shattered by a light touch, my senses hazily drift down to reality as I turn, dreamlike, to see who or what has so lightly touched me. A familiar face, a blur of golden hair, and I reach out to grasp a small, soft, familiar hand; my sister. She swings gracefully around me, each leaping step an attempt to break away from the gravity that binds us, and I find myself leaping with her, joining her dancelike struggle against the binding gravity which pins us down, like two butterflies pinned onto a page and labeled. But we have not yet ceased to flap our wings, and may yet escape the finality of the locked case and labels. If we can still escape the case in our minds, perhaps the door will not be shut so tightly. And for my sister and I, two bright-winged butterflies dancing on the breeze, the door will never be shut all the way.
This was written by me in 9th grade - wow, three years ago now. It seems like eternity; I've changed so much. I'd like to take this opportunity to say GREENWICH ACADEMY GIRLS CAN KISS MY ASS. Thank you. Excuse me. I had a, shall we say, unpleasant experience in my years at G.A. It was... not the school for me. Maybe I'll write a rant about it someday...
This page sparkaliciously crafted by Sparky; that's me. Email me at kumquat37@hotmail.com.