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we sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if ever, to the silence of God.

[annie dillard]

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when i cut all my hair off, this girl was there. and i remember when the shorn strands leaped forward over my brow, she said to me, this is the real you.
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she told me once that she wanted to go to language school in south america. she wanted to have adventures. she taught nature. her thing was showing parts of the world under our feet to children.
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when i heard, all i could remember was her laughing that night as I held out my braid, her saying to me, when you came here this summer, you weren't you yet. now you are. this is the real you.
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a friend called me last week to tell me she fell. it was instant, she said, her voice hollow and salty. she didn't feel a thing.
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i sat after the phone went silent. i thought about this gift she gave to me. the day before, she was waking up just like I am now. and now she is somewhere else, and I can't thank her for seeing me.
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nadyne. when you climbed that wall, the moment after you felt nothing under your hands, the moment between when everything ended and everything else began-
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that was the real you.
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thank you.