Alternating between worlds, between one that’s fully paved and one that’s full of gravel; not knowing quite yet which way to take. Only knowing at each moment that the view is wonderful and that my feet hurt and that my eyes are heavy. But all I know is to keep on walking anyway.
Weight is, after all, an established concept of pushing and pulling and refusing to stay too high, as hearts soar in less of a fight against gravity than wings do, and it is the paradoxical magnetism of home that always sends you the farthest. This is you, in the highest cadence of one beat after another: distant, glinting, ready to take on the world, and already one with the sky.
So, in which world are you living at?
Some of you have been hearing so much real story cases around, sometimes they are uplifting, sometimes the other more are even depressive. Perhaps it means universe trusts you, with secrets so tender and quirks much disarming, because others would cringe yet you would not. They believe in you because you always embrace the reality of people, all gradation and shades light creates when it dances upon someone.
However please remember: wherever they lead you to, I hope it’s a safe heaven. The locked little box may sit on the corner of your heart, just make sure it does not consume too much space.