I’m standing in front of a blank canvass.

It beckons me forward and I feel a tingling

in my fingertips as they itch for a wand

to channel creativity through.

I look down and expect to see

a brush dripping with paint

or a piece of charcoal smudging my fingers.

Instead, I see a pen gripped and ready.

Its vibrating slightly as if it already

knows what its going to write.

I place the pen on the canvass,

as visual art is another way to

tell a story, to catch a moment in time

standing still so that we can

observe its beauty. When the pen

touches the canvass, I watch as

lines of ink flow out from the tip

of the pen. These lines swirl across

across the canvass and shape themselves

into a form that is taken from my memory.

The lines begin to move so the whole

picture looks as if it is real.

I see a boy sitting with a journal in hand,

clutching a pen much as I am now.

He begins scratching the paper with

his pen, making words along the page.

I watch as the worlds he’s creating

come to life in front of his eyes

and the wonder he feels as being able

to harness this magic. It takes me a moment

to realize that the boy is me, that this

was the moment I first put pen to paper.

I move my own pen along the canvass

and the lines move and shift once more.

As the lines begin to twist into shape,

I see a young man, holding a book he

wrote for the very first time, holding his words

as if the book were a child. The young man

turns his face and I see myself.

I look more closely at the canvass

and see the title of my first book,

the words that I had typed out

filled with their own special kind of magic.

The book itself is shining and, even through

the canvass, I can feel its pulsing heat.

I move my pen one final time,

watching as the lines shift and move

into a shape. I lean my face closer

to the canvass and see that the lines

are actually all made up of words and letters,

The lines of words shift and move

and there is the sound of bells in the air

as if something I cannot see is singing to me.

When the lines stop shifting, I am

looking at myself as I am now,

my holding a pen against a canvass that is

moving and changing as I look at it.

I almost take my pen away from the canvass

when the me on the canvass turns and gives me

a soft smile, as if it knows my momentary fear.

I keep the pen on the canvass and watch

as the lines shift once more. They become

a doorway. The door is situated in the midst

of a meadow. I can flowers in the grass

moving and shifting in the wind.

There is a tree in front of the door

and its branches also bend and shift,

almost as if welcoming me to enter,

beckoning me forward to the unknown.

Slowly, the doorway opens but I am

not afraid. I blink and then the doorway

is in front of me, the meadow around me.

I can hear the whisper of the wind

through the grass, hear the creak of the

tree as it continues to wave in the wind.

I hear the sound of bells again and

they sound like music. I know that

I have nothing to fear, that these

are my words that are surrounding me

and they mean me no harm. I step forward

through the door, knowing I can return

any time I want to. I may not know what

is on the other side of the door,

but the only thing I can do

is move forward into story.

I would have

missed you if

I had not

turned my head.

I had not

seen you in

seven years. You

had not changed

much, except for

your eyes. They

were filled with

ice when they

took me in.

Your face was

creased in anger

and I could

almost see a

large black cloud

following close behind

you. As you

neared me, there

was a lot

that I wanted

to say. Such as:

“Hello.”

or

“How are you?”

or

“I hope you’re well.”

To think that

we had spent

five years of

our lives together,

yet there was nothing

that we could

say to each

other. You, because

the past was

still alive and

well; and me

because I could

see that you

wouldn’t listen to

anything I had

to say. The

look you gave

me as you

passed by me

would have left

me hurt and

severely scarred if

you had the

power to hurt

me anymore. I

only felt bewilderment

that you chose

to live with

so much hate.

You moved past

me and as

I watched you

walk away, I

realized that the

well that I

carried inside me

that had been

full of hurt

and pain was

now only filled

with light. I had

thought I would

be afraid of

you, when I

saw you next

but instead, there

was only calmness.

You had lost

the power to

effect or control

me. You walked

on, your shoulders

hunched against a

world that you

were determined to

be angry at.

So I did

the only thing

I could do.

I reached into

the well inside

of me, filled

with ink and

brightness and I

sent you a

little bit of

light. I watched

as the light

made its way

towards you, hoping

it would lessen

the size of

the cloud that

followed you closely.

Within that light,

I put one

wish. I said:

“I wish you well.”

It was my

final gift to

you. When I

turned away from

you, I knew

that you would

remain in the past

and that I

was heading home

to my future.

For as long

as I’ve known

you, I’ve felt

like I was living

inside a dream.

As if everything

that I had with

you was too

good to be

true. I was

holding on to

the dream, living

within it, enjoying

every moment that

I had with

you. Part of

me thought that

it was doomed

to end as

no one could

be this happy,

this content, this

enraptured, this joyous

for very long.

Though as time

passed and the

days turned into

weeks, then into

months and now

years, I let

go of the

idea that this

dream would fade

as all dreams

do. It still

felt as if

I was living

inside of a

dream and I

knew that I

didn’t want to

wake up, that

I couldn’t live

my life without

you and the

light that you

bring to it.

I began to

believe that we

would spend our

lives together, that

what we had

transcended the idea

of love and

mad it into

a reality. Then

the unthinkable happened.

“You know,”

You said.

“We’ve been talking about having a commitment ceremony. We’re doing everything but getting married. So why don’t we just get married?”

There must have

been a disconnect

in my brain.

All I could

hear were the

sounds of glitter

joy and stardust

as they sped

through my head.

“What?”

I couldn’t get

the words out,

didn’t know what

to say, words

had left me.

“Will you marry me?”

Instead of answering

you right away,

as the words

were still trying

to find their

way back into

my consciousness, I

did the only

thing I could

think of. I

kissed you. Inside

of that kiss

were the words

that I couldn’t

find, the emotions

that you stirred

in me, thankfulness

for you that

illuminated me ever

day, the joy

I have of

being loved by

you. When I

broke the kiss,

there were tears

in my eyes

and you said

“So is that a yes?”

I looked you

in the eyes

and said “Yes.”

I realized then

that I wasn’t

dreaming, that this

was glorious reality

and my dreams

had become real.

You have given

me a reality

that was better

than any dream.