From Stationary to Levitating

Ces jours, mes pieds ne touchent pas le terre. Est-ce que tu m'as vu en lévitation?

These days, my feet don't touch the ground. Have you seen me hovering about the city? An effervescent spark, a bubbling gas, I hiss, I burst forth energetically. And all the while, God sings to me in Italian.

Hope. I might be silly, delusional, naïve, *insert more synonyms* but it lives in me, this stupid, dumb, blind hope. It's the small things that fuel me, that keep me hovering over gazing affectionately at the mounds of white dust the elves left all around our house, the cloud droppings, fluff white powder that melts in the heat of my palm.