The notes on the piano go silent. The keys have stopped allowing themselves to be played. Time has froze. I can't hear myself think. I grasp the camera in my hand, trying to make sense of this reality. Maybe it will be more real to me once I breathe. I look up and I see a tree growing in the wrong direction held hostage by the power lines. Here I am sitting in the passenger seat, not existing as the person I am deep within. Instead, I am the person wishing who blows on her eyelashes when they fall out. I wish to be set free from the power lines. I know I have to tiptoe ever so softly toward the stars and find out what they have written for me in their opaque pages of fate. Yet a fortune cookie thought lights up inside my head like a light bulb with Chinese symbols painted on it: "Pick up the pieces. Get on with your life." I go into deep thought. The symbol of a white rose etches itself into my minds eye. "Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." I blink. This is for you. Remember when you danced around the chair? You smelled of alcohol. That was your signature scent. You looked at me. I remember that look. Now I see your spirit looking at me with the most soulful of eyes. I remember what you last said to me. You apologized for any pain that you caused the little girl you knew. Well, I apologize for being eggshells. I should have been made of steel. Perhaps then I would not bleed so easily like I do. I bled on the roses I was meant to smell. I forgive you. I was so focused on the scars for so long, that I didn't realize my worth until you stepped up on your make believe soapbox and hugged my dreams. It was only right that I forgave you after you wrote the letter in my sleep. My eyes opened and I breathed. I was alive again. The ashes had formed themselves into a beating heart of a woman. I am that woman. A kleenex falls to the floor. I see you watching me. I don't know where I come from as much as I know where I am going. I smile for the rainbow that is soon to come my way. I inhale and look at myself from the outside. I exhale. I can't be rushed, but I can be inspired. I am not the tree. I will not be kept in line of what the past has burned on my skin. I tear off the mask. I move forward and gaze into the mirror of my soul. I will grow and keep in mind the photograph that brought on the poetry that brought on the song. I am cutting the lines bit by bit. After all it's the truth that need be known. I can only be a sunflower, not a rose. As a wise man said to me: sunflowers are God's beautiful mistake. They look like no other flower and that is why God loves them. I think of the tree. How can you grow if you're always kept in line? You can't. Take chances. Happiness awaits you.
