Waiting

I think my wings are transparent enough. For me to be a swan. And strong enough, to take me away from all of this. So that I might gain a new perspective. That bird’s eye view we all crave. But I suspect the sky would dismiss me in tiny breezes. Like skipping stones across a pond. Sputtering, then gone.

Minutes turn into years when I’m made to wait like this. People I may only know for a little while and still I need proof. Monsters in damp basements, quizzing the darkness. Ghosts in stale attics, searching for their chains. The beauty of any lie is how hard it tries to protect me. Taking off my gloves to touch the glass. Only to discover it’s never been there.