To the one with whom I’d share the secrets of the universe…

This started in the shape of a poem, but it quickly ran off to other places. I was hoping to call it a prose poem, but it doesn’t quite fit that, either. Stream of consciousness, maybe?


I am the only thing that’s real.
I am the most real thing I know.
I must hold onto myself tightly–
O, so tightly!
because everything else is but a fragile dream in comparison.


Lean in and I will tell you a secret.

I was barely grown before the Universe said,
“I want you to bring a little boy to life.”
My heart broke.
”I don’t want a little boy!” I protested. “I cannot possibly love him like I should! Please…find someone else.”

But the Universe persisted; I was the one to give in. Eventually, I began to accept it as my duty as a Priestess. I called him “the son I owe to the Goddess”.

When I began to count twenty-seven years, the Universe turned my head and said,
“Look, this is him. This is the one upon whom you should bestow your love.
“With one caveat: he does not Know you. This is your first life together. You cannot speak to him as you would your Truest Love. And he cannot Hear Me as you; he cannot Speak to Me as you.”
Then this is a conundrum indeed, thought I. For I have yet to share words with my Truest Love while we are in this life.

My Truest Love may not Know me when he sees me; but one day, that dam will break. A light in my eye will give a chance glimpse to the past–a held hand, a stolen kiss, a sleepless night under the stars.

But You?
I have no more words to pray; no more letters to write. If I am not dreaming, then one day, You will Hear the Universe–if only for a moment.
And when I am brave enough to reach out my hand, you’ll take it; joining me in the swirl of the planets and the dance of the stars.


But for now, I am the most real thing I know.

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