growing into fear - Grace Cupp

dreams of flying turn to fears of falling in the turmoil of growth. I used to love the smell of you, running my fingers over your face as if I could carve the ridges into the deepest parts of my memory. big chocolate eyes that used to comfort my soul began to ignite a suffocating terror as I looked up through the haze of red. somehow my first love had become my first heartbreak. nostalgia grips my being with a crippling ache. fragments of flying through tired golden fields that remind me of the honey my mom used to put on my toast and flashes of silver horseshoes too close to skin as soaring became falling, and a child’s dreams become an adult's nightmare.