Still learning to Breath

Be patient with me. I’m still learning to breathe.

Some days I am old. Wise with experience, seasoned with years. I live a thousand lives, with a thousand lessons from each and every one. I am the owl, whose eyes can peer into your soul, whose heart beats fastest at midnight. You can come and sit with me, I will tell you tales from my thousand years. I will fill your mind with advice and your heart with anecdotes. I will laugh and say to you,” Yes, child, I have been there too,” or “I remember feel that way when I was your age.” I will have an answer for all your questions and questions for all your answers.
I am wine, rich with age, better with time, best in moderation. Come sit with me; I will spill out all the secrets of the constellations, I was there when they formed. Come empty and you will leave full, for I have eons and eons to give you. Some days I am ancient, like the sands of time scattered across the galaxy, stardust. Some days I am the very blueprints of the universe.
But I am a child; still learning to walk, stumbling on solid ground. One step, then another, another, another, then on the floor starting from zero, again. I am a child, a product of fertility and time, developing and dying, all at once. “What do you want?” the world demands, and like a child, I smush my thoughts together and struggle to get my words out. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I ask because I am still waiting to answer myself. I am a child, still grasping the world around me. Wondering how life can be so beautiful for a moment, and so tragic for a millennium. How it begins like a rainstorm on a hot summer day: clouds slowly forming, building up to the crescendo, then *boom!* thunder claps,(one mississippi- two mississippi , three, four, five etc.) lightning strikes, the rain pours, then it’s done. The sun dries up all the evidence, then the cycle repeats, such is life.

I am a young, finite, and foolish; trying to grab life with the little strength in my little hands. Still trying to understand the limitless skies with my limited mind. I am not the wine, made for parties and ages fine. I am the grape, young and plump; I will reach optimal sweetness, then I will sour. Consume me quickly. I am not the owl, who sees all, poised for the velvet midnight sky; I am the ferocious kitten, active in the dark-too small for the world around her. I tell my secrets to the moon, and he scatters them across the galaxies, stars, and the stardust are the remnants.
I will fly one day, but I have groundwork to finish. Until then, hide my wings, les I wear them before my time and fall prey to the thin air of the high skies. So be patient with me- this world is new, my lungs are delicate, and I am still learning to breathe.

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