Careful

He always kept a coin in his pocket. A friend gave it to him; he assured me it was for good luck. But, I knew better. We keep this trinkets to link us to the Before; we are always blinded by what is behind us, by anything out of reach. Crippled by the future and paralyzed by the past, but I thought I understood the meaning behind its soft gold hue. If I could feel it, that meant my hand was in his pocket too, that meant I was close. I always wanted to be close. But, my feet are planted; I, too, remain stagnant. My trinket that keeps me grounded is not a coin nor a tangible trinket; I only need to close my airs and think of the press of your jeans against my hands or the soft whip of your hair, and I am home.