There are those who think they know how worlds like this come into being. They think they understand how to take this airy nothing and twist it into shape so that the mountains grow out of the flat lands and they think they know those motions of the wrist that can fill this valley with those trees and snake that river through them.
They think they can take a fingertip and trace it in the air and that she will grow out of the movements that sketch her body in the empty air.
They think they know, they think they understand.
They are the ones who think they can just click their fingers and she will snap her eyes open and then follow everywhere they want her to go. They think she will acquiesce, that all they have to do is paint this roadway across the landscape and she will walk down it, towards the life they have built for her in that far city that sits on the horizon like something emerging from the mists of possibility.
They think all this, while I sit here with a smile on my face knowing that as soon as they look away, she will come back here to me, whispering those secrets she only wants me to hear.
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