I fell once down the slope of a hill. Tumbled through dead leaves. And I’ve been chased by a swarm of bees on a mountain. It wasn’t really a mountain though. Just named as one. It was after the time I nearly wanted to jump into the river. The river was the color of root beer and foamed just as much. Oh the river. You know that most things I want are things I only nearly want. I nearly wanted everything once.
I used to dream that I was running through a field and there was a sliver of light in the distance and that light always felt like home. The best feeling I’ve ever gotten was coming home through the darkness and seeing our porch light on, glowing green because my family likes colorful holiday bulbs even in summer. And I always felt that coming home was the best thing about leaving.
There is this cake that I had when I was young that I try to recreate and always fail. I’ve decided that the first person to find this cake for me will be the person I will love forever. It’s like Cinderella. The cake standing in for the shoe. The first bite will taste like distance disappearing. The first bite will remind me of everything I’ve ever lost and then refound.
And sometimes I believe in everything. I believe that the fireflies are sending me messages with each shimmering green blink. I believe that the keys I find when digging in the garden will open doors everywhere. I believe that every light is the light of home. Of returning. Of being found. I believe that there is a beauty to falling, to that graceful arc, to the way it feels like you might never land. I believe that one day someone will give me a taste of sweet and it will taste like finding the edge of the sky as I’m falling and the edge will be something to hold on to and in holding on I will have finally found everything all at once.