One summer day I am going to go out searching for a place where I can float in the treetops. I will find somewhere and climb, barefoot, delicately into the uppermost branches and lie facing the sky, weighed down by nothing. I will lie amongst the leaves and the flowers.
I feel as if I am in a dream most of the time, not dreaming, but just a character, passive and hazy, in the dream. But maybe the treetops are a place for dreaming. Where the world can carry on moving by but it won’t matter. Because at the moment the world is flying past without me, pulling with it small pieces of me until I am left, empty, with nothing left to carry on.
Sometimes, there is a glimmer. Just a glimmer. A tiny spark that flits across my mind so fast – maybe I can try and move out of this place. There is so much out there, and I’m going to get out and find it. But it plants these thoughts and then it runs, disappearing into the night without a backward glance, so fickle, leaving the hope it had ignited without root or purpose. And so I sink again.
But if I could just get outside, with the trees and the sun, and the sky, and the weightlessness, maybe it would stay. I just wish it would stay forever,so I could live.
So I’m thinking about the treetops and the glimmer is hiding just around the corner.