Theea
one day, I'll be out of time
And I just wanna feel alive
And I just wanna feel alive
I keep scanning the trees, every break in the green making my heart tick a little faster, sure I’m about to see it. The wind picks up, brushing loose strands of hair into my face, and I push them back as Caly’s voice drifts beside me.
“I always wondered what it’d be like to have siblings,” I say, still keeping my eyes forward. “I wanted a little brother or sister so badly growing up. Or two. Or three.” A small laugh escapes me. “But my parents said they wouldn’t bring any more into it.” I don’t say lonely, but it hums there, under the words. I glance at her, smile softening. “I’m glad you have that, though. Your siblings. Especially when parents aren’t very hands-on anymore.”
For a moment, the ache of it lingers—no siblings, and now no real parents in the way I had before—but before it can dig in, I push it aside.
“I’m glad I met you, Calypso,” I admit, voice lighter but no less honest. “I’m usually scared out of my wits in social situations, but… it’s been reassuring. To actually make friends.” I grin, wry but warm. “Feels less like I’m flailing when someone’s got my back.”
And then—my breath stops.
Through the trees, there’s a splash of pale yellow.
I slow for half a heartbeat, making sure I’m not imagining it. But no—”There!” I point.
It sits at the end of the sand-packed path like it’s been waiting for someone. Pale yellow, worn soft by years of salt wind, with blue trim that’s more memory than color now. Faded flowers trail up the porch beams, peeling in delicate curls where the paint has let go. The roof is a mess of palm fronds, dry and rustling, the yard overgrown. The windows—most of them—are still intact. One in the back is cracked through, and the glass glitters faintly in the slanted autumn light.
It shouldn’t be in such good shape after all this time, especially after the war. But the bones are solid, straight through. Even under the weathered paint and overgrown yard, I can see it—how it might look clean, mended, and alive again.
Something in my chest swells, sharp and sweet all at once. For a moment I’m seven again—bare feet on these steps, my mom smiling as she painted the shutters, my dad pretending not to get frustrated when the banisters didn’t line up straight. The air feels heavier and lighter all at once, and I realize my eyes are stinging.
I jog toward it. The sand gives under my feet, jacket flaring behind me as I race toward it. My heart is hammering, not from the sprint but from the sheer rightness of seeing it still standing.
I leap up the porch steps, my hands finding the railing just like they used to, gripping the wood where the flowers still bloom in faded paint. The porch lists just enough to make the step feel uneven under my boots. I can’t stop smiling. The banister is rougher now, but it’s the same. All of it’s the same.
“It’s still here,” I sigh. “And it still feels like mine.”
I spin on the porch and flare my hand out like I’m presenting a mansion. “Welcome to my new abode!” As if it’s something grand to look at. I turn to open the door—it sticks, but then cracks open, spilling pale light over dust motes.
“Want to come in?” I ask over my shoulder.
“I always wondered what it’d be like to have siblings,” I say, still keeping my eyes forward. “I wanted a little brother or sister so badly growing up. Or two. Or three.” A small laugh escapes me. “But my parents said they wouldn’t bring any more into it.” I don’t say lonely, but it hums there, under the words. I glance at her, smile softening. “I’m glad you have that, though. Your siblings. Especially when parents aren’t very hands-on anymore.”
For a moment, the ache of it lingers—no siblings, and now no real parents in the way I had before—but before it can dig in, I push it aside.
“I’m glad I met you, Calypso,” I admit, voice lighter but no less honest. “I’m usually scared out of my wits in social situations, but… it’s been reassuring. To actually make friends.” I grin, wry but warm. “Feels less like I’m flailing when someone’s got my back.”
And then—my breath stops.
Through the trees, there’s a splash of pale yellow.
I slow for half a heartbeat, making sure I’m not imagining it. But no—”There!” I point.
It sits at the end of the sand-packed path like it’s been waiting for someone. Pale yellow, worn soft by years of salt wind, with blue trim that’s more memory than color now. Faded flowers trail up the porch beams, peeling in delicate curls where the paint has let go. The roof is a mess of palm fronds, dry and rustling, the yard overgrown. The windows—most of them—are still intact. One in the back is cracked through, and the glass glitters faintly in the slanted autumn light.
It shouldn’t be in such good shape after all this time, especially after the war. But the bones are solid, straight through. Even under the weathered paint and overgrown yard, I can see it—how it might look clean, mended, and alive again.
Something in my chest swells, sharp and sweet all at once. For a moment I’m seven again—bare feet on these steps, my mom smiling as she painted the shutters, my dad pretending not to get frustrated when the banisters didn’t line up straight. The air feels heavier and lighter all at once, and I realize my eyes are stinging.
I jog toward it. The sand gives under my feet, jacket flaring behind me as I race toward it. My heart is hammering, not from the sprint but from the sheer rightness of seeing it still standing.
I leap up the porch steps, my hands finding the railing just like they used to, gripping the wood where the flowers still bloom in faded paint. The porch lists just enough to make the step feel uneven under my boots. I can’t stop smiling. The banister is rougher now, but it’s the same. All of it’s the same.
“It’s still here,” I sigh. “And it still feels like mine.”
I spin on the porch and flare my hand out like I’m presenting a mansion. “Welcome to my new abode!” As if it’s something grand to look at. I turn to open the door—it sticks, but then cracks open, spilling pale light over dust motes.
“Want to come in?” I ask over my shoulder.
look mama, i can fly
