The Extras

I forget sometimes to believe in gravity.  And the peace that comes with having two feet stuck firmly to the ground.

Somewhere between my fifth house and my hundredth new school, I forgot.  Wishing on turkey bones and laughing at people who carry dogs in their handbags.  I forgot what it meant to be stable.

There is a person standing at the edge of a precipice, wondering where the gas leak is coming from.  Wondering about how many people still wear socks with holes in them.  And what time it is in Africa.  And how to do winged eyeliner without messing up.   

And how that boy had really beautiful eyes, and how he used them in the right way but for the wrong reason.  How it sounds when it’s quiet enough to hear everything.  How skin feels against more skin and how knees feel during bon fires. 

If it's worth the risk.

There are people who think about June weddings and flowers and big dresses, and there are people who think about girls with big lips and long hair at dark and musky bars.  There are people who write their feelings on napkins and leave them in booths in cafes.  There are people who kiss in parks and on boats, and there are mothers who tell their sons not to look down girls’ shirts.

There is Right, and there is Wrong, and there is Sometimes. 

And I am nowhere to be found.