They asked "how'd you get here?"
"it's been a long road"
They laughed, "it's sounds like there was a man"

And I smiled

There was a journey.
There was a career had and lost
There were friends loved and left
There was adventure you could never know
And there was damage so deep you cant see the bottom.

"There was a man"

Of course.
There were many.  

But did they bring me here?
Are they as important as the woman who woke me?
Were they as exciting as the traveler who carried my water while I carried her tent?
Was there one as inspiring as the queer man who told me I was a queen?
Could they have been as present as the friend around the world who'd help me understand the viciousness of humanity.
There wasn't "A Man"
There was my life.
That's how I got here.

The things my father taught me from very small to very large:
Don't eat ice cream before dinner
Santa prefers carrots and orange juice,
And practice patience when you're a beginner.

He lectured always button my coat, but wear what feels like me.
He taught me how to kick a ball, balance on one foot and lose gracefully.

He made it clear to fear an angry man, something I'd understand when I was grown.
And forgiveness was foreign to him, so I had to travel there alone
but when I got there I'd be happier than he had ever known.

He said the future was just dreams I would bring to fruition.
That while I stretched across the world I'd find support with my ambition.

My father taught to blaze a path, whatever that may be.
With all the lessons, all the rules, all the circular conversations, what I've built from his foundation is unapologetically free.

I could hear at the small of his words something grow. Is it a mis-truth or a confession. The slightest indication of the point that will come when one of us has to say goodbye. I can feel in breath something desperate. Begging for more of my skin, more of my life, more of my thoughts that drift us up into a imaginary world that was created for us.

The light through the small of my window danced on the crumpled waves we bathed our curiosity in. What is this curve, this spot, this anchor I can feel pulling down into a depth that I can follow only so far before needing to come up for breath.

This is ours. You said it. Even for just a moment. But in the small of my mind hidden underneath the dusty books and records, I wait and I watch,

for you to be revealed.