A Strange Sort of Beautiful

It’s a strange sort of beautiful, this life.

I’ve followed the breadcrumbs, even the ones I knew would blow up my world. (They blew it up: into a million pieces of possibility. Beautiful possibility, for everyone around me.)

I have been lost. I have been ecstasy.

I have been right when I thought I was wrong, and wrong when I thought I was right.

I have been in love—my goodness, I have been in love—and I have been broken, and I have been dirty, and I have been changed.

This whole life long, I thought I was one thing.

I never have been one thing. I have been a starburst of infinity.

Always.

And now I see her rise, this girl, to this woman inside me— how she soars with the swell of abundant life.

From the ashes, she flies. Out of the haze. At least for today.

There will be new love in this shining place. I’ll see it with my heart, I’ll know it with my soul.

There will be friendship built on truth and depth and eternity.

There will be a roaring spirit, in the place where magic lives.

And there will be you.

Always, there will be you, my friends.