(* For context, this was written in a plane flying from Ohio to Colorado after a loving yet introspective and insightful weekend with my family.)
Above the clouds.
Nothing but space.
The clouds are puffy, thick, yet permeable.
Some shrink and condense.
Or spread out in wisps.
Joining other clouds.
I imagine a magical world inside those clouds.
One where I too, can expand.
To command attention.
Let my presence be known.
Not with physical form but with the energy I possess.
But I only know how to shrink.
And then, evaporate.
A form that has once served me.
But one I no longer want to take.
As I look down at the clouds, in the endless sky, I ask:
“Teach me how to take up space.”