Golden roses floating down steady praises rising up. We are born to make choices, we are born to go to heaven, we are just human. My Old Navy overalls that I wore in 5th grade had these yellowgreen grass stains on the knee caps, rolled at the cuffs above my dirty Keds with buttons tarnished. There’s this picture of me when I was much younger than that standing on top of a huge dirt pile in my father’s driveway, three times as big as me and I was queen.
I was never afraid of rolling in the dirt, climbing trees, or pretending back then. Back then our lives revolved around make believe. Princesses and kings, polar bear adventures, fortresses of our imagination. We were never who we were then but now, now we are only who we are.
With heartbreak and responsibility, with time and pain, we grow. We can’t climb up those jungles any more. We can’t live at the top of forests or galaxies far far away we can’t be animals in story books with blonde haired best friends who have since disappeared. We’ve become who we are.
Warm rustic cabbage soup for dinner, parmesan sprinkles on top. Piles of smelly dishes pilled up in the sink from a life that lives too fast. Piles of clothes on the closet floor. Messy sheets, dust bunny floors. This is the symphony of a life being lived, the skin of our days, the twinkle of passing time, the single notes that make up the cacophony of our lives. Golden roses floating down steady praises rising up.