If I kept my back straight, my eyes shut, my tongue silent.
If I tiptoed through the garden, the sand, the ocean of my dreaming.
If I swept the corners clean.
If I stopped in my tracks.
If I forgot to forgive, or forgave to forget.
If I shut the windows from the rain.
If I lied and lied again.
If I did not tear it all down, empty my heart, rebirth myself,
I would never have heard my own story calling,
“Where do you want to go next?”

by Maya Stein