When I was younger, I used to possess magic. The sun wasn’t my enemy, and the sky was my home. These days, I feel a lil dimmer. I still feel it, but it only peeks out when I least expect it.
Like when the perfect song syncs up to the moment when the subway peeks out of the tunnel. It's the feeling of the sky engulfing me and having to squint at the overwhelming shine. But when I finally succumb to it, it’s like I’m seeing the world for the first time again.
Or when I dig myself into the ground. With my chest full of lilacs and a rain that falls so familiar. There it is again, green and blue, kaleidoscopic. I’m whole, and I’m beautiful, rested, and absorbed back into the ground. Useful and Wanted
I know that magic is real. I’ve seen it in strangers' eyes and heard it in beautiful melodies. I know that it’s real because I see it in you. It's almost too much sometimes, like the pressure of being at the bottom of the ocean. But I know that it's real, because if not, what am I?
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