I can fly, standing, my
back *****, I can fly, holding
my arms aloft, I can
fly, speeding down the hill, I
can fly, swerving around cars.
I fly, dancing with death and
courting danger, I fly, laughing
loudly at my fear, I fly,
relishing the near-misses and almost-
impact of tragedy, I fly, I
spin, I wheel, I turn, I
soar, *(I escape
everything.)

It's days like this I wish most
your existence could occur closer
to my own. The wind is blowing itself
teasingly through my hair and the sun
is shining like rain was never even
thought of, the sky soft and deep and
so blue, with clouds like cotton buds
smeared across the great expanses. Today
it would be so simple to turn and smile
at the person you're walking with, walking
to nowhere in particular, and then
suddenly whisper in their ear, "Run
run run run run," taking off down this street, winged
feet pounding the indifferent pavement,
bright laughter trailing behind us.

You are treading dangerous waters, and I
have been entrusted with your
care. Though I wish to be only
impassive bystander, I must guide you
through this new enviroment, ******
upon you so quickly and without
any warning. Though I wish to harbor
only sympathy towards you, a single look
in your direction renders me completely
empathetic, until I can feel the waves closing
over my own head, remembering vividly
my own drowning, so far away and so long ago.

You are treading dangerous waters, and I
have been entrusted with your
care. More than anything, I wish
to throw you a life-preserver, but
I know you would rather fight
independently, and so to rescue you
would not be forgiven.

Weeks ago you asked me what
I would write about January. I
don't think my words fit
here, not when we are all just watching
her recovery and praying it
continues smoothly. At other times
I think, though, that though this month
hurts more plainly and less in ways
that lend themselves to writing and
delicacy, it could never accurately be called
any less painful.