The words of my mother shift from a wish for me to rise to a desire to see me become like the trees, and as she sings, Meeko begins to sing, too. Their voices entwine to become one, and as Meeko masturbates me into a state of spiritual bliss, I feel the kiss of mother nature upon every inch of my skin. Somewhere, behind the bony moon, I hear the angels blowing on their trumpets. It’s an orchestra I never glimpse but hear every time I’m taken to the brink. Gritting my teeth, my grip on the branch above me falters, and for a second, I sway. Not just in body, either, but in mind, and as I sway, the world sways with me. The outlines of the buildings on the horizon are smeared like chalk upon a blackboard. The dust from such chalk floats to the tip of my nose. Sticking out my tongue mirroring Hachikō as he tongues the fly that continues to elude him, I taste the fleeting days of my education, and in particular, the flavours of playground love. It’s so near, and yet so achingly far. Opening my mouth as wide as I can as tears stream from both my eyes, the song that surrounds me is as golden and as shiny as the hazy reflections of the sun coming off the windows of my old English classroom where I first discovered the importance of words and how they could enable me to express myself in a way I had up until that point never before known.