The leaf I’m on is fragile, green, iridescent to any other eye but mine. I mistake my foot for a bike tire, ten in a row. Ten pins on either side of me, waiting to be knocked over by an apple dropped from Newton’s own hand or the avid hunter with a keen eye for perfection.

I’m sitting now, across from tall brick red strength, a history of respect and intellect, a delicious atmosphere reminiscent of the surface of Venus. And yet, it’s addicting. I’m an addict, to all the attention and sleeplessness of this institution. I’m addicted — just like my Labradoodle, that muppet of a canine chained to the tedium of the game “fetch”.

Do you remember when? When you rolled down the field sized hill through the patches of dandelions while college students shot past riding on chariots made from blocks of ice. Years later you’ll look back and smile on the first time she knew you knew she knew after you said:

Elsie, you have no idea.

Woe is me the feather shadow, come to snatch my soul from the face of this fragile planet – the same ecosystem that nurtures my contents only to consume me – berating my exhaustion into the stone corner six feet under. “You’re so insignificant” says everything, “You’re so insignificant” everybody says, “You’re so in(significant)”. 

Stop it. Nobody’s saying mean things about you. You’re not even on our radar.

Just wait, before long now i’ll not be a speck of matter, no longer a mote of existence, but a deity of hue and saturation. And while most won’t take note, I’ll still exist as a deity of deference. You don’t know what I’m named, that’s the good bit. You can’t see me, but you can see the way my butterfly wings propagate hurricanes across golden shores.