There were the stories from the summer he went blackberry picking before they were ripe because he couldn’t wait. Then the story about the first time he saw me. And the story about the first time he knew.
Gently, they clipped my dirty, rain-soaked wings from my shoulders. It was just so they could dry, they tried to assure me-but deep down I knew better.
I watched as petals burst to the surface, as if they had given it their best effort, but couldn’t hold back confessing how desperately they missed breathing—how achingly they wanted to be considered worthwhile again.
We most likely haven’t met, but I know that girl with natural talent and big dreams of the shore above is still in you.
1. It is far less practical to hold onto someone than it is to hold onto what they teach you.