For a long time I struggled to find peace. The worlds that I had created were set a blaze in the blink of an eye. I found it was easier to watch each gradually deteriorate, than to speak on the time capsules locked behind my eyes.

As a young girl I didn’t see trees or skies, grass or snow. Rather I saw timeless monuments, arms with fingertips changing with the seasons and our secrets stashed in rings. I saw blank canvases with strokes of all my favorite colors; pinks for the days that I didn’t want to end, blues for the ones that that slipped by, and grays for the ones I still think about. Under my footsteps was a slow moving sea, with each piece of emerald ready to carry me on my next voyage. When the sky fell I welcomed every piece of it, chin high and eyes locked to the sky I relished, for I lived with flames entrapped under my skin.

Through the years I had learned and conquered, then regressed, and forgotten how to how be. The entrance to my existence had collected cobwebs and became desolate and dim. An endless abyss of stories as high as the eye could see, every page encapsulating all: the moment I realized real power, what it meant to lose hope, to find a moment of tying love in every dimension, to get rejected on your favorite aspect of yourself, be truly alone, discovering the human spirit, and so forth. A sanctuary of every war, every loss and every victory, all lands that hold an undisclosed magic, and all the raw moments stuck in time.

Dust collected my life’s work, and pages began to fall apart.

I have come to the conclusion, my tranquillity comes in the lows and in the highs. In life and death, love and pain. Watching the particles scatter from the sacred pieces of who I am and who I was. I will go faint when I draw the curtains and allow the room to drown in silence instead of capture my scripture. Rather than grimacing at blind spots; shelves are starting to to fill with compositions and memoirs of all the beauty of inexplicable chaos, and the gratitude it is laced with, that has brought me to the now.

I wear peace like a clear December’s night sky; a possessor of stillness illuminating pockets of fury, redemption, revolution and renaissance. The answer will be to never allow the entrance to become barricaded and to never allow myself to cease to create, and even in the states of mass deterioration, there will always be keys.