"You are here for a purpose."
This is something I've always believed. Sometimes I struggle to believe it more than at other times. But it feels significant in this season somehow. The events that have begun to transpire along with the friends that I have gained, this time feels significant and on purpose.
"Maybe God is a man or a woman, and she's set something in motion."
And I suppose this may be true. I'm watching the sun set on one thing and rise on another, and in the most intimate and beautiful way a relationship has transformed into something profound, as I am becoming more fully who I was always meant to be.
As we walk together along a long straight path the sun sets on our left and monarch butterflies dance through the sand cherry bushes on our right. I pass a cornfield and say, "Maybe I can pee there," and you stand and demonstrate peeing in the bushes, pointing to a place for me to go. You watch that the coast is clear, as I squat down in the brush. You have become the friend I always wanted, kind and unassuming, someone who fully supports me for who I am becoming.
We continue our walk talking openly about our life and love as we always have, and I feel happier than I have felt in years. "Say it with each step," you say, "walk in this truth." And I walk and slowly and confidently proclaim something over myself that I had never dreamed of being able to proclaim before, let alone with you. But you love me so freely here.
And I feel so much more alive than I had ever thought possible.
As we walk back, the sun continues to set on our right, now, and I feel both sad and full of hope. This season has already begun to create something akin to joy.
I want to be someone who is able to offer love that is not attached to pain, but I'm not sure what this looks like.
"A parody of love and loneliness" or "the epidemic of loneliness" or "what is loneliness?"
I am considering the selfishness of youth.
I am considering the youth I lost.
Please, ask me a question and then listen to my answer.
The most intimate form of care and love lives in the empathy of pursuing the knowledge of another and hearing it.
How should I exist?
As my body is lifted, I hover above the ground my finger outstretched towards God.
The touch of divinity and humanity reside in me.
"Come, you fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing your grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise."
What defines you?
I lie deep in the ground waiting to blossom.
As my deep well runs dry I question the integrity of love.
Do you know me?
How much are you willing to give up for true love?
I think true love lies deep within the selfishness of self-love.
"I cannot love you more than I love myself."
And the paradox erupts.
My body cringes with the pain of it all.
Tragedy and truth lie together.
And my humanity makes me real.
Come touch me and you will experience the reality of me.
Despite my better judgement I forget myself and wear my insecurities on my sleeve. It is an out of body experience as I talk to her. I observe my ticks and judge myself wishing I could stop it all.
"We are one underneath the sun."
Who am I?
Who are you?
I say I love you with all of the commitment it requires, acknowledging the risk and embracing the hope.
I will be here.
I am taking my time to do what is right with me.
I want to love you well.
And perhaps I will remain misunderstood here.
And perhaps that is okay.
I have a friend who delights in the sunset. She anticipates it. She acknowledges the movement of light across a face or a door frame and captures it. She allows the light's expressions to move her.
I have been moved from one sphere of existence into another. I have been thrust through a worm hole. Someone who is also me, but in an alternate universe from me, has switched me places. I am now living her life.
I think that her life will bring me joy.
Alana Jamison grew up in Oklahoma and currently resides in Western Kansas. Her writing appears in Flash: The International Short Short Story Magazine and The Pitkin Review. She is a graduate of Goddard College's MFA in creative writing program and a student in Fort Hays State University's Transition to Teaching program. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @alanajamison.