The spirited flautist & broken dreams
I am a bubble, frail and diaphanous; I am a rock, solid and opaque. I am tiny grains of sand completely formed, yet ready to scatter when airborne. I am the Sun, burning bright; I am the Sun turning cold at my own plight. I am water flowing freely, or caught in the endless wait to convert myself so others, can see or feel me once again. I am so many things yet none, I am a king at one moment or just dust, ready to merge with the scum. I am who I am, so let me be, I am who I am, I am me… He stood precariously balancing himself at the edge of the wall, teetering almost ready to fall off. What others couldn’t tell and least of all see, was the steely resolve in his eyes as he poised himself. Everything around him had been tumultuous from the very beginning; at first he hadn’t noticed that it was on the inside, he always felt he was queer, perhaps different. He levitated toward the sound a...