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The Sky Changes

The sky changes. 
It changes like us.
The sky is blue, white, grey, sometimes pink and red and purple.
There is a place I used to go to as a child that made me feel free. I could be alone, look up at the sky and travel, defying space and time.
I would be alone in that field and lie on my back. Hours would pass and I would look up. I imagined all the stars that I couldn't quite see shining as the sky grew darker. I would fix the brightest one and count the times it would sparkle until I lost it.
I could even picture my body become weightless and hover just below that same sky. Moving up without any effort.
I would float.
So simply, and the images in front of my eyes would change, accordingly.
I am no longer on that field, looking up.
I'm on familiar ground. Cold, under my naked feet.
All the details around me start to change, much too quickly, like all the puzzle pieces being shaken in a box. I am no longer on familiar ground, but I am home.
At home I can't float.
I can find no stillness here.
Everything moves up and down and left to right. As if someone pressed the Fast Forward button of the DVD Player and I am the only one moving at the Play pace.
I go up the stairs and to my room, I hear a: Swoosh! and sense a shadow move past me. I feel a brush touch my sock-less ankles: Meow!. 
In my room I close the door. I shut the lights and look out my window. The sky is black with white dots that shine. I close my eyes and feel I could fly, like Peter Pan, and try to find The Lost Boys. 

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