sky high poetry

some people don't believe magic is real.
i didn't, either
until one day i opened the door to a mystical paradise

magic drips from the walls into the tables and chairs, enchanting all those who enter
and spells come in the form of espresso brewed with love and kindness and a sprinkle of pixie dust.
here, strangers become friends become family
dreams aren't just for sleep

a magical retreat from reality, 
whether you're staying awhile or just for a moment.
differences melt away into shared passions and distaste for the world outside
while smiles are exchanged over sweet treats and rich, warm coffee.

this magic, it changes people
it changed me
turned bitter cynicism into hopeful optimism
a desire to be dead into a lust for life
faces once unfamiliar have become some of my favorites to see
and the sun that shines through the glass has turned me into a real girl
(i am no longer a puppet).

it seeps through every crack
every crevice
groove in the floor
chip in the paint, so while you may not believe in magic,
i do.

it lives within the walls
the tables
the chairs
the people.
and now
it lives in me, too.