
When I was little,
I would stuff my dreams into duffel bags,
Lay them flat under my bed
And wish for them all to come true,
So I could make space for more.
In time I ran out of bags,
And eventually floorspace too.
Mum told me to be more realistic,
But I guess I never did like
Being told what to do.
So I made friends with my imagination
And marvelled at her breadth;
An infinite sanctum of intrigue
That I could have sworn was tangible
Across the ridges of my fingertips.
The future I saw was make-belief,
A story designed only to inspire action.
Until I felt your arms around me that first time.
I’d been warned of your reputation,
Of being full of empty promises.
Yet to me, you felt warm and comfortable.
I’d known the looks of curious eyes
Reflected off the panes of yours.
But that day, I saw straight past you,
To a place where oceans of blue and
Gentle curves of green beckoned.
I was mesmerised.
I’ve heard that eyes are windows to the soul.
But no one ever told me that
Windows open your eyes to new souls.
They reveal an endless horizon of the things
I never thought possible for myself.
Prufrock once pondered to himself,
Do I dare disturb the universe?
So I decided to do the same.
You gave me a way to say yes.
Now the only question I ask is ‘how?’
I know your name has slid scathingly
Off the bitter tongues of battered buskers.
They said you stole happiness from tomorrow.
But when tomorrow did come,
You brought in blooms of indescribable beauty.
I am not the only one that has seen you,
Aching and worn from endless journeys,
Nor will I be the last.
And I will choose to remember you
For all your enduring triumphs.
I don’t care that you’re a little turbulent
Under the weight of uncertain skies.
Or that sometimes my breath catches
When you kiss the world roughly
To invite me somewhere new.
And though time will distance us,
As we move onto different things,
The places we knew no longer being ours alone,
I will always remember the way you held me,
Stiff but undeniably warm that first time.
So thank you Jetstar.