Maybe next time, I will fly across the sky. Maybe I will unfurl these tawny, russet-colored wings and take to the heavens. Maybe, just maybe, I will touch the whipped-creamy marshmallow clouds and stir them with my fingertips and make fuzzy word-pictures that you will see from the earth below, if only you’ll look up from what you’re doing. And you will smile, just a little bit…but a different smile than usual-a little bit sweet and a little bit sad. Because, isn’t that the way we are?
Maybe next time, it’ll be my turn to sing a song. And I’ll sing something with a joyful, lilting melody, though my voice could hardly hope to do it justice, but won’t it still be fun? Maybe I’ll have so much fun singing my silly little song that you’ll end up laughing and singing along. So I’ll smile and sing louder, and you’ll add and start tapping along with your fingers, and I’ll spin around in a happy little dance and we’ll have a grand old time and wonder why didn’t think of doing this in the first place.
Maybe next time, I’ll give you a call and we’ll go out on an adventure. Maybe we’ll stand beneath an inky, starry sky and hunt meteors. We’ll strain our necks to get a clear view of the full spread of the sky so we can glimpse as many meteors as possible, and even though it’s almost winter, we’ll be warm and happy. Because we’re smart and will of course think to wear our scarves and mittens and to bring a thermos or two full of steamy sweet hot cocoa and some big fleece blankets to share with all the friends we forced to tag along. Maybe we’ll see lots of meteors, or maybe we’ll only manage to spy a few, but I can guarantee that each time one of those speedy balls of stardust catches my eye, I’ll giggle and clap and babble on in that excited, bubbly way like the little girl I am inside. And you’ll pretend I’m silly and naïve, and maybe I am, but you’ll smile anyway.
Maybe next time we meet, face to face, we’ll walk side by side, crunching through the leaves and staring at the sky, just waiting for the chance to spread our wings and soar. The sky will be a melancholy blue-gray, over-laden with clouds, won’t it? A sad sort of shade, full of endless possibilities and dreams we’ve left unspoken all our lives. Maybe next time, we’ll overcome those fears and limitations and seize the hopes we’ve carried secretly in our hearts all these long years. Maybe we’ll finally cast off the mist that blinded our eyes and clouded our minds, and go forth to seek destiny for ourselves.
Maybe, just maybe, each day will be a new beginning-a chance, and all you have to do is reach out and grab it. Maybe the sky will be full of clouds and expectations and the wind will rush us along as our feet meet continually with new and exciting paths. Maybe I’ll find a new kind of beauty and a new kind of love and joy, a new kind of meaning that actually means something. And maybe you’ll feel like tagging along for the ride as I spread my wings and try to touch the stars. So I’ll hold your hand and you’ll fly too.
But maybe, maybe next time I’ll just be sitting here in the October air, surrounded by leaves burning in flames of crimson and gold. And you’ll see me, as you always do, and smile brightly and wave, continuing on In your unending journey to get to wherever you’re going next. And I wonder when you’ll stop and look around you, and I want to tell you to just fly above it all. But I can’t say it, because maybe next time, I’ll remember that we never had wings to begin with.