the simple fact that we have absolutely no way of proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing out there, and i struggle to believe that in a universe with billions of galaxies that there is not some far off planet with life forms we have yet to understand that could be magical. there's just no way to know.

(and that right there is the only reason i would ever want to be immortal, to see the possible day humans discover something as insane as that.)

Rakish man smiles

mercedes moon

spinning wheels

silvery waves

eyes dark

devious ebony skies

spirited lover

hovering in clouds.

Misted drapery opens

music plays

glistening petals drop

mouth of new moon

dancing in shadows

eyes on her.

Man paints moon onyx

with raspberry stars,

waltzing white swans

beckoning

in whispered secrets

magic potions.

White wine poured

cream crescent moon

he touches deep skin

with yearning light

opulence where

enchantment lies.

Kissing ocean’s reflection

entwining with sea

passionate alliance

with sun-glassed sun

moon holds sun

in egg cup of morning

spinning, spinning, spinning

i don’t have any

proof

that magic exists

but

every once and a while

i stick my fingers out

towards my pencil

and imagine that

it floats towards me

like i am

telekinetic.

i like to imagine i have

superpowers

so i can

escape from my

boring reality.

but

aren’t we all like that?

no matter how old we get

sometimes we just

stretch out our fingers

and imagine.

In the glimmering reflection

of the Moon

across the Water, and

scattered Starlight

dancing across our skin,

The Glow of sun beams

through the Window, and

The Twinkle in our eyes

We found

Pixie Dust.

There is a time unmarked

Not a particular day

Or a moment even measured

But in this span, things are more

The grass is more green

The house is more home

The coffee is more warmth

That life is more blessing

It is within those quick,

Blinking times of more

That I truly believe

In magic the most

What makes me believe there is more out there?

Parts of our history we cannot explain.

How did the Mayans cut so precisely with the tools they had?

How did the Egyptians build the pyramids in a precise alignment to the stars?

Why do perspective paintings show aircrafts not of that century? Before the dawn of television and CGI?

Where did the immortal jellyfish come from?

Magic? Or something greater?

A flicker in the air catches my eye. Is that what I think it is? Nah, it can't be. Magic isn't real. That's something for fantasy stories, ones in far off lands that no one but the author has known about before.

But there is it again. Another flicker of light bouncing from one space to another. I want to catch it. To see where it will take me. Maybe it'll take me to that far off place. Maybe it'll give me new powers I never saw coming. Maybe I'll be able to fly.

I would love to fly. To whisk around through the air, looking at things from a bird's view for once. I would never have to walk again. Instead, I could just jump off the ground and soar through the trees.

But magic isn't like that. I see the flicker once more, and then I understand where it's coming from. One little look, and I see a girl sitting beside her grandpa, listening to his story for the first time. She laughs as he acts out an angry ogre stomping around the room. I see a guy nervous to ask out his crush, wondering if she really would turn him down like his friends said she would. But he does, and she says yes. I see a hardworking woman who wants nothing more than to help her famil get the promotion she was going for, finally able to stop worrying about putting food on the table for her children.

That's the magic. It's not getting powers or going to a land far away. It's being here. In the moment. Ready for the future.

tonight i drove in the rain. Phoebe Bridgers was playing and the lights i've grown to know as my town were distorted and had an ethereal glow. my sister was sitting next to me. i've been told it's the little things. i never believed it until tonight. it might be the feeling of his head on my chest or my guitar that i decorated. it's my black eyeshadow and the way my angst eats me alive. my crystals might be fake, but i trust them like my grandma trusts a cross with a sheet across it. his lips were on mine and i felt nothing. i looked at myself in the mirror and felt everything. it's the little things. it's my friends laughing with me. it's pen on paper. i have to believe it's the little things. the little things bleed magic, however small. the little magic isn't witchcraft, it's human. the little magic makes me believe. maybe magic isn't real. i still hear you either way. you and i are the storm, darling.

Sometimes, and yes I know this is corny, but- sometimes... the light hits the leaves of a tree on a trail you take everyday and it's magic. On that five minute drive to work you hear a laugh outside of your car window and look to see a young family smiling, a little girl swinging in the air and two parents holding her hands with smiles and joy they take for granted. Sometimes your old dog looks back at you with a smile you don't see as often anymore and in that moment she dances for joy because today we are going on her favorite walk.

I don't ever want a day where I don't see those beautiful canines.

Sometimes you get a call from someone you haven't heard from in ages and they just wanted to say 'hi' and 'i love you'. In a moment your heart is only glee and nothing else exists.

Magic exists in the moment. And '...if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one.'

They are so brief and in that same moment it is all over.