The clouds are moving so fast. Where are they going? They look free. Freedom is fleeting and moves fast. Enticing.
The light from the screen irritates my eyes, irritates my mind. I turn it off and try to sleep, but some thoughts are not ready to sleep.
The rain is pretty and it smells good. So very very good. Sweet and pungent and fresh. I love the smell of rain. My stepfather used to say that my nose was made for rainy days. It curled up so the raindrops could linger in the little indentation instead of running straight down my face and into my mouth the way it happened for him with his long, straight nose.
He was a good man. My mother didn’t see it. I’m a lot like my mother.
I'm pushing against an invisible wall. It is thick. I feel stuck or is it sticky. Gum. Florescent pink, stuck to a stranger’s shoe. Strawberry flavor. My favorite.
My father bought me a pair of tall white shoes and they were so cool. They didn’t make shoes like that where I grew up. And those kids were so mean, they kept running up to me and stepping on them, to make them dirty, to make me dirty. I laughed with them but inside I cried. I felt so helpless in the face of their lust for destruction. I didn’t understand. I never had the urge to step on anybody’s shoes. Not back then anyways. I was so proud of my shoes. My papa, my real papa, brought them for me all the way from America and I so wanted to wear them to school to show the kids what cool shoes they were, and what cool papa I had. But they didn’t see it. They just saw a girl who had more than they had so they tried to level it. They stepped on my shoes and they stepped on my heart. And I never felt like I belonged with them again.
These moments they shape us, everything shapes us, our mothers womb our fathers hands, how much we walk on grass, how much on concrete, how much rain falls upon our faces and whether our noses are strait or curled up. It all shapes us.