Stepping Over Birds | Summer Schwenn

Sometimes it’s important to dumb life down to the simplest things. Some days it’s being able to cross the street in a timely fashion; other times it’s fully embracing the slap of cold wind on your cheek when you can see the sun’s reflection bouncing off the treetops filling your vision. Sometimes it’s easy to breathe deeply and smile, to feel like there isn’t a shadow looming behind you. Other days it’s a little hitch in the lungs before my pitch turns to sour and I can’t seem to catch myself quick enough. It’s a crunched up mess on the sidewalk, a stain blinding your smirk turning to glassy eyes and shaky hands. These days it’s best to walk a little faster and look around less. You won’t find me stepping over birds; I haven’t mustered the courage to call it quits with fear yet. It’s liberating to feel so suffocated, a hazy meditation on burning grimaces; it’s a poison that aches with the passion of paper cuts that sting slow and hard. It’s not enough to look it in the eye, I want to grab its hand and take it dancing; I want to be wrapped around its finger and lose myself so completely that I can’t find my way home again.