Sleeping Beauty rolls over

Oh, when the last dream dies, it dies quickly. All other hurts have drained the senses so the fingers uncurl and the palm opens on muscle memory alone. It releases, like newspaper in a fire, up and away. Like a Macy's balloon let loose, up up and away. Like the spirits of loved ones, up up up. And away.

There's an invincibility now, a nothing to lose quality that feels almost good. Good-bye little brick house, good-bye funny french doors and camellias. Good-bye that street in that town on that river.

I will not have children in this life. 

Out loud it stings a little. Inside, I think I've known it all along.

What else do I know?