It’s not normal.
Funny, that’s what we say every day, about any number of things. It’s not normal, it’s not routine, it’s not the way of the world.
When was the world that certain way?
For me it was summer 1998, on a clear day I saw her. The girl who made all the sense in the world.
It was as if someone drew her on a page. And all I had to do was keep turning.
Turning to catch a glance of her, running, walking, a semblance of motion, a sprint, a marathon.
If I could, I reach out to touch her fingers, curl up beside her toes.
But I can’t, I’m not complete, I’m not coherent, and to her I absolutely don’t exist.
But she’s everywhere around me, and she has an effect on everyone.
I know she’s never happy, with family, with friends, and all her boyfriends are celebrities, her problem is she’s mind body and soul, and the others? Their bodies are keeping the minds warm tucked inside their heads, but the souls? Well, let’s just say there are vacancies.
Oh she’s had people claim to have loved her, claimed to have known her since she was just a kid, some still are kids, and that’s where the magic lies. Get ‘em while they’re young, and the memory won’t wither as you get old.
The memory of your first.
She’s been every exclusive, every headline, been in every printed publication, has had countless hours of continuous conversation, you will hear her echo through all your ages, and still not come one inch closer to her.
I won’t stand on your monument and decree I know her best, I only know that she’s been the best of my own life, that it’s influenced me, that it’s nourished me, and the prospect of letting her go fills me with the only dread that overtakes my days.
Where do you find the words? How do you tell thin air you prefer a different fragrance?
I’m not even the one who told her that the single best quality in her life is that she possessed the abilty to get up in the morning and proclaim her full name in full earshot of the rest of the world.
I wish I could have been.
What’s her name?
I’d tell you but you’re not family. You can’t be trusted.
Why am I telling you all this you ask?
Because everyone on this planet deserves to be heard, praised, promoted.
Everyone deserves a sermon.
Everyone is a part of God.
She’ll tell you about her sometime.
Because one day, you’ll take a trip upstairs.
On that day, if you’re good, if you’re kind, she’ll notice.
On that day you’ll exist.