Sheep

Remember to take a moment, he says, to see where you are and whom. I sat in the dark corner of a closet in a room that wasn’t my own, staring at the carpet and trying to hear the words not only in my head but also in my chest. Remember you are happy. I cried then, despite myself, and felt somehow the impossibility of growing tendrils beneath my heavy heart, of small rays of sunshine that will not be discouraged by winter or by the persistent pummeling of ghosts of Christmas past. There is sunshine in these veins that found a way to grow, and flourish, and be better than it ever thought possible, how could you ever forget that, what a disservice.

A voice travels across the ocean. Says, you wrote a book. Let’s talk. And the thing is, it’s true.

It’s a new year, but it’s not a new you. It’s the fruits of all your labors. It’s a year for answering the questions, or asking the new ones, it doesn’t matter which because those tendrils will keep climbing toward the light regardless. Just water them with your curious breath, your adventurous spirit, trust in all that which you have packed in this suitcase, it will not fail you.

It is you, you know.