You are a story | tell it.

have you asked it yet, that well of restlessness that stirs inside of you—have you asked it what it wants from you?

have you asked its name?

it knows yours, has known it before any of your bones even started to fuse.

it is as old as you, and it is older.

it knows your father, knows the sound of your grandmother’s heartbeat in the womb of her own mother.

it is this moment, but not the one still to come.

you have not been given that yet, and you might not get to hold it in your hands, so listen carefully, and love deeply, and don’t waste time.

—this gift, it is older than the moon, and it knows you, knows the shape of everything that you want to give. listen.

it breathes.

have you asked it yet, that well of restlessness that aches inside of you, have you asked it what it wants you to do?

you could lie down on the grass, the soil, the wooden floor, the carpet—it doesn’t matter where, just lie down flat on your back so that for a gossamer moment you cannot see your life, so that your body is held by a force greater than all your fears, so that you will know that all your fears could never weigh more than the breath of that small thing that you hope for.

look at the silent conversation living behind your eyes, look at the pictures of your life, your past lives, look at all that you have been given.

hold it up to the light.

count everything that has left you, everything that you have had to give up, especially the things that you did not want to give, the things that were taken from you, the loss.

ask for its name.

then tell it.

the whole world is waiting.

— you are a story | tell it

© Liezel Graham 2020.

{Image by on Orlova Maria, on Unsplash.}

you are a story.

what are you waiting for?

tell it.

the whole world is waiting.