Not All Who Are Lost Wander

This is my eulogy to you, other things I could have been great at.

I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating that last question.

That’s what brought me to the valley.

Someone asked me who I am, not what I do. I didn’t think. I spoke.

“I used to be a writer, but I don’t write anymore.”

Of all the things I could say, that’s what came out? My soul was on fire. The rotation of the world slowed just enough for me to see. I realized the weight of what I’d given up was heavier than the weight of anything I could have.

We could be a million different versions of ourselves, is there one that’s best?

--

--