You are here -

You always wonder how you got here.

Biologically, you know, but

ever since the moment you were born

thousands upon thousands of stories have been waiting

to be claimed by you -

though only one will ever be yours.

There are so many could-have-beens,

would-have-beens

and vividly imagined should-have-beens,

but all of that needs to be forgotten right now.

You are here.

There's no large red dot to accompany that statement,

but it's unnecessary, anyway -

You feel the stark awareness of

your own blurry existence

and imbibe the nectar of your mind's own reality -

But in all this there are

questions that have woven themselves

into the lacy patterns of your soul:

Who are you,

and how did this here

come to be yours?

You already have the answer.

You are those coat-hanger sculptures you used to make in kindergarten -

except the coat-hangers have morphed into solid steel

spun into a carefully crafted mess

displayed in a lush garden

with many paths

that people walk day after day to admire the glittering twists and curves of the cool metal

in the sun and the rain and the haze that settles over everything

when Mother Nature can't make up her mind what mood she is in -

Remember the stories you would write in third grade?

The ones about how you and the boy with the 72-pack of crayons -

complete with sharpener -

were simply meant to be?

It turns out you were right -

for a whole month, you sat side by side

basking in the gentle glow of perfect harmony -

until you broke the red crayon.

You might not be able to recall

the name of that particular shade,

but in your heart you can feel it:

Bittersweet.

Yes,

you were right -

except,

no one ever told you that meant to be

doesn't mean forever.

Think back to the day you started high school -

when you thought you knew everything,

well,

maybe not everything - you've never been that arrogant -

but you were sure of many things -

until you weren't -

Until you walked into class

and became physically ill

at the realization of all the

knowledge you lacked -

Until you walked out of that class

torn between

elation and despair

with scrawny embarrassment tugging at your sleeve,

begging for his share of attention, too.

You settled for a walk in the wrong direction -

the best decision you never knew you made.

Then, you were seventeen

and in love

with words and ideas

and life.

You constantly craved new additions

to your vocabulary,

taking the time to taste each syllable

until you found exactly

what you were never looking for but needed desperately

once its existence was made known.

You traveled through worlds hidden in the power

of suggestion -

constructed out of ink

and imagination

and necessity -

Sometimes, your green eyes got the best of you -

hunting for words, you gave your heart to

a foreign tongue,

and forced her to hand over her valuables,

words you wielded meanly

without ever knowing what

they really mean.

Today, you are older

and standing

at the base of a tall pine tree,

limbs stretching as wide as your imagination will allow -

You trace the eddying pattern of the bark

and wonder at its likeness to your fingerprints,

a swirling code that holds the secrets of your story,

some of which even you do not yet understand.

The wind carries you a hymn -

a tune you do not recognize sung by the voice

you know better than any other -

and so you climb

until your breathing is labored and

you are dizzy with a joyous disbelief.

You are here.