white lines

I find myself dreaming, dreaming, falling. I follow the white lines but they always seem to swerve at the last second, throwing me off track time and time again. It's like a rapid river, resembling the one I grew up on. I remember being eight years old and getting my feet and socks wet and sandy on the shore. The adults were telling me not to go too far, to stay close to them, to home. The ones who don't want to share the world with us, they set the rules and change them, so we never get close.