The air is restless,
a kite tugging at its string.
He leans into the wind,
bones lengthening faster than his shadow.
Laughter spills from the street;
a language he is only just learning,
half-shout, half-secret.
In the mirror,
a stranger waits:
eyes lit with something unspoken,
hair falling into rebellion.
The door slams behind him,
not in anger,
but in urgency;
as if the world might vanish
if he doesn’t catch it now.
Pavement sparks beneath his shoes,
friends orbiting like loose planets,
the day a drumbeat
that swallows his name whole.
.