I am the knuckle curled beneath your hang-down chin, lifting against your ‘no’. I am the voice asking you to look up, look at me, look in my eyes. I have your secrets and I am keeping them, cradling them like helpless babies. You hold back, turn away. Refuse.
If you could look at me to see what floats like a ghost in the space between your eyes and mine, and what waits just beyond that ghost? Truths may take a different shape, may not bite, and bring another chance. Who else wants you to listen and what are the offered words? An answer for now may be just this much:
Have faith. Faith enough to know that you do have a soul, A soul that can cross the distance between here and wherever it seeks to go. You could let that curled little girl within you stand up, have its run into the mist that waits among the trees just beyond us. You have all you need to arrive.
When tears form at the corners of your eyes, they form then in mine. And they form all around us. They catch light and allow it to bend, shine, and catch color. Let ours be deep green. Let it be red or autumn orange. Let it be invisible. Let it be everywhere.