about a girl

There once existed a person who didn’t know how to fit. Not in the daily world, where so many seemed so much better at facing each morning without turmoil. Not in the bigger world where the right kinds of answers earned their speakers treasures of merit and means (even if they weren’t true). Not in the best world where extraordinary people worthy of deep respect worked hard to achieve great ends.

This existing person walked around not fitting, seized by worry over what to do in such a predicament. Sometimes sleeping in cars, searching for ghosts in $20 motels, rambling nonsense that dripped with sublimating sight. Sometimes riddled with chagrin for coming up so short. Often overcome with gratitude for the vast, fascinating emotions of the plight.

Until a day came when the non-fitting person stopped trying to exist. When the non-fitting person slipped through the door designed for just such a shape, and an entirely-other realm of being began. A realm where mere existence couldn’t possibly seem as important again.

When something doesn’t fit there’s an easy, obvious reason. An odd shape is odd because of its shape. Because it came that way. Because it is that way.
Because The Door is meant to be traversed.
Only a statement that sounds this simple could hide such deliverance.