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You bring the sky down to us who cannot reach. I heard you first in a nursery rhyme and imagined you only in the pages of the books on my shelf. But I've heard that angels only appear in the midst of devastation. I don't know what was more of a miracle- the fact that I was able to get back up, or that it was you who told me to apply ice. Either way, after I warmed my hands, I knew I was never leaving this home.

I was lucky enough to have you forgive my mistakes. I made a lot of them, and even when the concrete statues of home followed the wind to other places, you made sure there was a key under the mat. And you always made sure it worked first. You've always looked out for me. You've always looked out for everyone.

There were times when I thought you had chosen others over me, but you were simply teaching me to want myself. At least, that's what I imagined it's come down to. I've caused you to lower your voice upon times, but no bricks could have ever hit harder. You do serve candied apples with your razors, though, and maybe that's what saves us all. Or maybe it's the fact that, when I have dreams about falling, I'm always hoping I land at your place.

Or maybe, even still, it's that the gravel driveway is the softest bed I've ever known and the wind carries the sent of imaginary pineapples instead of chaos. You can't control the weather, but you do the best to control our futures. Thank goodness someone is trying, because it's obvious that we aren't. But, believe me, you make it aware that we can't keep this up forever.

It's a happy place we're in now. I feel like my smiles fit me and our silences are result of contemplation, not lack of words. Though I guess you and I never found ourselves short of voice. Whatever we've found that has brought us here, whatever our titles are in textbooks- I'm glad you wrote me down directions.

And I've always known that you were smiling whenever you walked away from us.