remember you said you would turn the earth on its axis for me? ruin our relationship with gravity, just so i could grasp at the sky and admire the texture of the clouds?
i remember the taste of salt, heavy in the air from oceans crashing at my front door and stumbling through forests, funhouse-warped, haphazardly finding my way through fog, sun burning my retinas. i’m used to it now, but there’s still nowhere to hide. all my hiding places are gone, displayed for all to see; you stole my anchor to the world, and i can’t stay standing for long. too soon i crash back down to the sky, bracing myself for the fall and remembering it won’t happen.
(the sky feels too flimsy to support my weight)
the ground is pulled from under me; you’re so keen to impress.
take it back; i don’t want it like this.