An Unmapped Forest
She wanted to have words. Good words like a solid credit score. This Is a Reliable Voice words.
Or mystical words like a spell or incantation that could make a new life appear, glitter swirling in the air as a transformation occurs. Soft to strong. Something now to something coming.
She wanted friends pulled close like a lap blanket in front of a winter fire. She wanted something to hit her lips and tongue that would rearrange her cells with its flavor and sensation.
She wanted to be all the way alive inside every day as if it were an unmapped forest and she was its explorer.
She wanted to be changed or altered by every leaf her eyes registered, every fallen branch and rock stepped over. She wanted to become quieter, somehow. Not in voice, but in rapt listening.
She wanted to feel everything. Raindrops and strong winds. Momentary panics and seasons gently ushering us from one to the next with a gentle overlapping of weather. As if the planets know it is hard for us to say goodbye sometimes. Or that other times we need to be slowed from rushing ahead. "Not so fast with those socks," these warm late September days chide.
She wanted her life to mean something, no matter how long it lasted. She wanted her ripple to pass its movement and energy on to the next one, to be a memory afterward for someone who witnessed it before turning to walk away.