Birds Don't Have Ears

I walked down the path illuminated by God's lovely moonlight. The stars and the shiny ground stood still as I walked between them, offering neither my heart nor my thoughts. For below me was the grounded realization that I was now older, less wiser, and more immature, and above me was clouded judgment.

"I want my love to be my best friend," the kangaroo told me.

Now you don't know the kangaroo. In fact, many do not. We all just pretend to.

I said, "I don't mind not having love. I am enjoying my moment of solitude."

Though, was I truly enjoying it? Or had I given up on the Utopian vision of a best friend so perfect... that friend would be your true love.

My head was in the sky like the many who thought they knew the kangaroo. Immaturity granted me my answers. It granted me my connections. It denied my growth. The kangaroo offered his dilemma, and I offered my own. Strange.

It was the kiss that brought me back, like a reverse knockout. The Kangaroo's boxing glove nicely fastened, was ready to grant me the kiss that would wake me from the dead.

I have dreamed this kiss often. How do you react? What do you do?

Do you leave the place that grants you happiness? Do you stay in the place that makes you jaded? Do you fall somewhere in between the sky and the ground, and walk with the hope that the path illuminated before you leads you back to your true love?

Or have you forgotten? Is it solitude or separation?

ground or sky?

pride or desperation?

you or the person they see?

funeral or celebration?

Are you a kangaroo? Or are you a bird?