You see the world opening it’s hand slowly in front of your eyes palm slowly uncurling little rays of light. I used to look up at the sky and see a ray of sunshine break through the clouds and I remember sitting in the backseat of the rusty grey hatchback, first car we could afford, no a/c, wind whipping hair back, defining what I saw when there used to be time you could look out the window the whole trip and see the light succumbing slowly to darkness and some teacher told you it was called the horizon and I claimed the beams of light meant good wherever they landed. The poetic words impressed my parents and I labeled every feeling in black ink writing stories that matched the scenery which was slowly being swallowed as time passed hour by hour turning my stories slightly darker and darker. So I’m slightly obsessed with holding the world on the flat of my palm and grasping what I could reach for and working towards the next beam of light not really caring if I have to stand in darkness for quite some time. Sometimes I envy the people who could see the pictures and the words and see the shades of pink and greens like flowers blossoming in the wind and the words reassuringly float and sway to and fro like the bed sheets I was told to hang dry in the sun then rush to pick them up before the rain soaked them all up. So I closed my notebook for some time, learned that a wet notebook never dries right on the inside. But never stopped observing how dark and light play games against each other showing and hiding what’s meant for one another. I guess I saw more than most do because I want the dark as much as the light too. I’m driven now, but wait, not before long, I’ll be the driver and you’ll be sitting in the backseat wondering which route I’m going after.