It’s strange,
how feelings return...
Like stray dogs to a house that once poisoned the bowl.

They don’t bark this time.
They wait.
Polite little ghosts with fur.

I moved.
Changed the curtains.
Changed the skyline.
But somehow, the rot packed itself in my suitcase.

Tell me,
what silence did I forget to bury deep enough?
Which drawer did I leave half-open
that let the dark crawl back in?

Tell me,
on the wings of a thousand paper planes
folded by hope,
crashed by habit.

I’m not running.
Just standing still fast enough to look productive.

The butterflies have returned.
Again.
They tremble beside me like old friends
wearing prettier names.

So stay.
Be one of them.
Be soft. Be fluttering. Be harmless.
Until your wings cut me open again.

Let’s stop pretending we fear the sky.
We were never afraid of falling.
Only of landing
and realizing we never left.

Let’s live, they said.
Let’s try.

And if we fail..
at least...

we did it beautifully.

-Ikkel Y.-