I've touched the sky.
I must admit it didn't feel like I thought it would.
It was thin, like silk, so much so that I could just push a little bit
and it would give way to blackness and infinity.
It felt like thorns and feathers, crimson and azure, Sriracha and gelato.
It felt like I was living a thousand different lives and dying a thousand different deaths.
And I've found that parallels really do define the sky.
Things that seem so disparate but are really so similar
So close, yet so far
So deep, yet so flat
So pervasive, yet so indefinite
And then, do you know what happened?
The sky told me a story
When humans placed wings on their backs in 1903, do you know what the sky did?
The sky mocked us.
Ha, it chuckled, you think you can touch me now.
But you can never.
And, I realized, it was true
No matter if we take the fastest plane in the world and soar as high as possible, we can't touch the sky
And no matter if we take the fastest rocket in the world and soar beyond the atmosphere, we still can't touch the sky
The sky isn't concrete enough to touch
There's nothing palpable about the sky
Almost as if…
It's a figment of our imagination
They say we should reach for the sky
But I know that no one will ever come close enough to touch it after me
So why try?
I won't try to touch the sky again
Because I know the sky won't let me touch it once more
But, just to tease the sky, I'll touch the highest thing I can
Even if it's not cerulean and silky
And then I turned back to the sky
Well, I smirked, even if I can't touch you,
I still know your secret.
The sky narrowed its eyes: Don't tell a soul.
But now I realize that I'm never going to meet the sky again
So how will he know if I tell his little secret?
I'll tell you right now:
The sky feels like dollar-store Play-Doh.