It's always have but never hold

It's always have but never hold

Every once and a while I have a sudden inexplicable feeling that I'm a bird, that I could climb up on the roof right now and jump off and soar over the palm trees and flickering streetlights with no trouble at all.  I could swoop down out of the night sky and lie down in the middle of the street with you next to me, only to jump up at the last possible second as car horns sound in our ears, loud and impatient.  We'll travel the world, you and I, wearing our lives on our backs as we journey to places we've only read about in books:  Kilimanjaro, Bath, Houston.  We'll train for marathons and then we'll win them, speeding through the finish lines with sweat darkening the collars of our numbered t-shirts as we smile with the joy of it all.  We'll conquer fears we never knew we had and we'll read poetry in Parisian cafes and Shakespeare on the streets of Verona.  We'll be the subjects of love songs and the envy of college backpackers.  

But then somewhere during our this and our that, I'll grow restless and you'll sense it coming, and I'll be aching suddenly for a break, a home, a mattress indented from the weight of me on it night after night.  This is where I will leave you, or maybe you'll leave me, just go on without me.  Who does the leaving won't matter - all that matters is that someone is gone, someone has felt the sudden, inexplicable desire to sprout wings and soar over palm trees and electric poles or fragrant pines and smoking chimneys or the Eiffel Tower and its bright lights.  For all we know or don't know, we're all birds, or dream to be so, to be able to leave, gone, gone, gone, gliding away on the ever-changing winds.