The Room Behind the Secret Door

July 1, 2013

I write because one day, years ago when I was a little girl

I opened up a secret door and peeked behind it

I looked up and saw infinity.

I looked around and saw everything.

I looked down and watched forever grow and

I can still feel the sense of wonder I got back then, marveling at what I can create.

I write because there is too much of the world behind that door to remember all on my own

And too much that I should never forget

Fantastical myths about the air and stars

Water crashing against the cliffs and green leaves pushing up through the soil

New roles and other worlds and wondrous ships of the spacefaring variety

Different times and different places

Different epochs and different universes

Tantalizing possibility that never runs out.

Older now (wiser? that remains to be seen),

I often still go searching in that boundless room

I walk through the everything and fall through forever

I gaze up in awe at infinity

And swim in the clear water called language that makes this place accessible

I drink deeply and taste the absence of limits.

I write to explain and expound and examine

I write to exclaim and excite and to prove there is more

But I think

Most of all,

I write to explore.

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