When I was a little girl, we had these giant trees in my backyard, behind a red brick house. If you climbed high enough, some of the branches would intertwine, and you could lay down. Sturdy enough to hold your weight.
Sometimes I think about that fantasy. Where you close your eyes and belong to the sky. You become attached to moments where the birds sing and the bees buzz—a simple satisfaction of purely existing. Maybe that's all we wish to find; a place to belong.
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