Over breakfast
we read the letter we wrote you
I was shaking and he
looked at me with the eyes of a child
the strong one
the Protector
he looked at me with the eyes of a child
he said,
"I never want to get over her."
Me too, Dad.

Me too.

Maybe I would have
been able to keep you
if you had been a lake.
Waters whisked by wind,
softly stirred in its sleeping
faint scent of flowers following
wafting, over my head, hovering.
Nothing to resurface. Your skin,
salt-and-pepper hair, veins
peeping from your wrists, squeaking
yellow rubber slippers, small mouth
taking sips of turmeric tea, all that I
remember, embraced by the waters.
Embraced.
Embraced.
Embraced.
For always.

But your heart has always been the sea.
So there's nothing I can do to stop how you
are more saltwater than I'd like, or how your
comings and goings are more waves than streams.

Still, I'd rather have you
crash over me sometimes than never,
swallowing me whole.
Stinging my sight.
Leaving my lungs
gasping for air,
just as long as you don't
drift too far for my feet to follow.

coincidence
          is just another word
for doubt

                          every letter was
      carefully placed upon the pages
to shake something


                         so don't worry about
               how the plot will twist
      write the character.

she carries herself as if
she is made of coal
but when she
picks up her pen, she
vomits diamonds, but
they don't shine bright enough for her to see.

I'd like this all to be a dream.
A bad dream.
Not a nightmare,
just
the kind of dream that you know
is half real.
The kind of dream that is uncomfortable,
but you know you'll be waking up soon.
I'd like this all to be a dream,
and find myself waking up to you
at the table
sipping coffee
eating toasted pandesal
with queso de bola,
but I'm already awake.
And you're still gone.

i wrote your name
on the backs of my hands in green ink
because Neruda likes green and green is for hope
and i like Neruda and i like hope.

i painted your dreams
on my ankles in the shape of wings
your dreams that are big enough to carry two
and i hope that's okay with you.

what i'm trying to say is that
i'll never forget you.
never, ever forget you.

If I tell you I love you,
what then?

As much as I'd like to
play with the stardust in your hair
and dance under moonbeams
to our favorite song on repeat,
I know that these are merely dreams.
They will crumble into the
harsh reality of daisies trying to
bloom during the frost
as soon as I grasp them in my palms.

Poets write of forevers and somedays,
but I know that as of this moment, this
will absolutely not
last forever and that someday
is not a day of the week, I'm
doing you a favor, sweetheart.
I've seen the aftermath of too many heartbreaks
and spent too much on buying
boxes of Kleenex for my friends to
even want you.

Whisper all the sweet things you can,
make promises of cottages and
chestnut colored horses, but
we are young and
we are fools.
These hearts are too precious to waste on
someone we can't count on to be there
through the thunderstorms and electricity bills.
We aren't ready for this and
you
know it.

I am saving all
for one day giving all
away, but not yet.
It could be you
it might be you
maybe.
Someday.
Forever?

Maybe someday we'll be forever,
but not today.
If it's you, then

it's you who will be holding my heart delicately
in your palms and it will be
whole.
And you will thank me, because

if I tell you I love you,
(now)
what then?

They'll think the scars on our wrists are
tattoos, and
they wouldn't be wrong.

They wouldn't be wrong.

Be careful
of what is put into
the white pail.
Watch out for
marbles,
pins, and
tacks.
Unwanted wanted
trinkets.
Needed yet unneeded.
Opposite, indeed.
Watch your fingers,
because sometimes,
band-aids aren't enough
to stop the bleeding.
You'll need a doctor
to do that.
But first,
get rid of
that junk
in your
white pail.



I'm certain
that the doctor
will do just that.
All you need to do
is to hand him the pail,
so he can fish out
the nasty things
and keep you safe
from harm.
Hand him the pail,
and he'll return it
to you empty.
But
he will fill it up
again,
I promise you.
He will fill it
with goodies
and more band-aids
just in case you
dump nails and
pencil shavings



into your white
pail again.
Just hand it over
to the
doctor,
and he'll
gladly empty
and refill
that pail
again.

Before me
is a brave queen of war
slicing her enemies' heads with the sharp,
cutting edges of the liquid eyeliner
she so expertly paints upon her skin,
unshaken by her rusting metal steed's
sudden jolts and halts.

Her long hair
whips forward with the wind, but
she, unscathed by its clawing
at her freshly powdered cheeks, tosses
the strands away, tames them. Stains
her lips with a blood-red shade, sits
in her own silence, away from the earsplitting
clanging and screeching and thundering chaos
of the battle that rages around her.

It is hard not to stare.

I can only admire her from where I cower,
behind a beaten-up backpack with fraying straps,
pushing my dusty glasses to see her better,
already defeated. Already surrendered.

Funny how the only thing I know
about the stranger beside me
is that our kissing knees and shoulders,
snug against each other,
is the warmest thing I've felt in a while.

I never asked for this.
I never wanted to know you
to feel you on my morning skin
to hear you whisper songs with the wind

I never wanted you.

And I was such an idiot for not wanting you
but you pulled me in
and promised me on that painful night
that joy would come with the dawn

I never wanted you.

Especially now that you refuse to
leave me
I've been faithless my entire life but
now I think I can manage just
a drop
even though it's the size of a mustard seed.

I never wanted you.

Because of you I can't have it my way
I want my way
but yours is always better and I know that
but I still try to
go
and you still
take me back
every single time

I never wanted you.

I didn't ask for your love
Your stupid, relentless --
I hate this
because it's too much for me to take in
to hold in
but it's a beautiful kind of hate
How come your love is like this
it's like an ocean and I'm drowning, but the thing is
I'm allowing the drowning
I didn't ask for your love because

I never wanted you.


You wanted me.

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
in the park, in the city, on the beach
a nice, long walk

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
someplace with trees
lots of trees
and sky
because I read somewhere that
you can never have too much sky

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and watch people live
make up stories about them
or ask them themselves

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and feel the wind whisper
and send me a message from someone far away

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
and forget how it is to rush
to forget
to hurry
to worry

I want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
with a soft sun
or a mellow moon
or rhythmic rain

I just want to take a walk
a nice, long walk
yes
a nice, long walk

You did not look like the knocking type,
but I found you standing at my door
just as I was about to shut it, knobby knuckles
ready to softly announce his arrival.
You never made much noise.

Your footsteps were whispers
on the creaking living room floor.
I never let you upstairs.
You might have stood at the
staircase a few times, but I wouldn't
remember. You never looked long enough
for me to see you.

Just like how you did not
so much as glance at the curtains
your fingers found their way to,
carefully caressing every inch of cloth
as if you had sewn them yourself.

How noiselessly your body
nestled against the hollow walls.
I can only be grateful that they
did not collapse beneath its weight,
or leave an imprint of your chest
on its peeling paint.

Before I found love,
I didn't know any better.

Before I found love,
I didn't understand what love was.
What love is.

Before I found love,
I fell.
I fell into a bottomless, empty, dark
Chasm.
A ditch I myself had dug up
With a *****, bent spoon.

Before I found love,
I would lie in bed.
But I was never alone.
I didn't want to.
I had to.

No, I wanted to.
I needed to.
There was something
Addicting
About the strong arms of another.

I couldn't stop myself
From constantly wanting.
From always needing.
From giving up everything.

Before I found love,
I thought I had love.
But all I had were eyes filled with dust,
A ***** spirit,
And a heart full of lust.
I thought I was in love.
But I was in lust.

Always wanting, never giving
Always receiving, never blessing
Impatient,
Cruel,
Jealous,
Proud,
Selfish love.

And not to mention, my hands were sore,
Bruised,
Broken,
And ugly
From the never-ending routine of
Digging myself deeper and
Deeper and deeper
And deeper into my chasm.

I was judged,
Misunderstood,
And tortured.

It came to a point where
People started throwing stones
And words.
They threw them as hard as they could.
They threw them at me as if their lives
Depended on hitting that target.
And let me tell you,
Their aim was fantastic.

Before I found love,
Love found me.
Found me lying on the ground.
Found me in ripped clothes,
Found me with a battered flesh,
And a bleeding heart.
Love looked deep into my eyes.
No, Love's look went past my eyes.
Love peered into my very soul,
My inmost being,
My heart of hearts.

Love could tell by my
Bloodshot eyes
And broken body,
That I had been anything but
Beautiful
Lately.

Love pierced my heart
And saw every shortcoming
Every failing
Every flaw and imperfection
I had.

Love saw my past,
And it didn't seem to matter.

Love looked at me,
Really looked at me,
and said to me
That I wasn't guilty.
And Love pulled me
Out of my chasm.

Love walked away.
And amazed me.
Love loved me before I loved Love,
And Love loved me while
I was still in that chasm.

Love pulled me out,
And sealed it so that I
Would never fall into that chasm again.

I followed Love,
One night,
And poured a sweet smelling
Perfume--- the best kind
On Love's feet.
And kissed them.

Hair undone.
Face tear-stained.
Love wiped everything away.
My past.
My wrongs.
My old life.

I looked deep into Love's eyes,
and heard Love say,
“She has done
A beautiful thing
To me.”

A beautiful thing.

A beautiful thing.

I did it for Love.

you strode in

a plaid hurricane

a bottled up typhoon

unannounced

uninvited

but completely

welcome.

and i was

surprisingly

unsurprised.

almond croissant washed down with a
cold cup of water and thoughts
wandering wondering what's

beyond

her small arms hold back storms,
but there come days that
no weatherman can tell of.
some days she bathes the earth
gently, colors cool, sharp, clean
some days her soft taps become
claws on your windowsill, your branches
bending over the weight of her downpour,
of all that she is, not drizzle, not shower,
all of her.

and she wonders if you
are okay with sometimes gray, if you
have a raincoat on hand, if you
will still be standing there in her aftermath.

if not,
she will tell you it’s fine
she will make sure you stay safe and dry,
and she just might build you a shelter
(without you realizing)
you will sit under its roof
looking out the glass doors
smiling as her torrents fall, thinking oh
how well you know her

Allow me to
Take you to
Another side of Linny where
Rustling papers and
Noisy staplers and
Grades and records are
Abundant in number and
Children speak and
Children listen.

This is she.
Calm and cool as water
Never breaking her dam
Despite our endless
Relentless questions and
Talking sessions
She is patience.

This is she.
A world of second chances
And in our English classes
Forever with
Grace on her lips
Grace on her fingertips
Speaking out
Breathing in
Grace.
She is grace.

This is she.
Understanding and knowing
When you are struggling
She is there helping
Because she knows
She knows what it's like
The students' life
Sleepless nights
Bottomless cups of coffee and milk tea
Sometime between midnight and half past three
Trying to finish up essays and submit projects on time
She is kindness.

This is she.
A flowing, gushing fountain of
Ideas, ideas, and ideas
She comes in with magic in her pockets
Sunshine in her hair
Excited to share
A part of her life
A part of her mind
With us
Wanting to unleash the
Artist in everyone she
Tries to squeeze out every ounce
Of imagination and creativity we have in us
She teaches us to think
To ask "Why?"
To question our surroundings
To be open to new things
To find answers
To learn and to live
And be more
Than we think we are.
She is art
She is inspiration
She is patience
She is grace
She is kindness
She is a blessing
She is
Ms. Linny.
Yes.
This is she.

Cold, metal claws clenched bleeding wrists

Injustice.

Weather beaten faces groaned under

The leather snake’s bite.

Injustice.


Reaching out with bony hands,

But slapped away by stronger arms,

Injustice.

Freedom gone, hope dim, shadows creep in and stay,

Long gone justice was.


I tried searching for it, though.

Every nook and cranny,

Every inch of my stone, cold cell.

Even the cobwebs and spiders.

No trace of justice on them,

No trace at all.


They say every scar has a story,

To tell.

Does this spell justice?

Freedom?


To own nothing?

Not even my own body?

To cry out for help but,

Knowing deep in my soul,

That none will ever come.


A living corpse so starved,

I am just a skeleton,

With a thin blanket of flesh,

Knotted and sewn tight ‘round my bones.


I am chained.

Body, soul, and spirit.

Struggling.

Falling.

With no strength to get back up,

And you call this justice.

i wished upon a star,

and every night, i flew

to the second star to the right.


i spent my time,

looking for the house of the seven dwarves.

i painted with the colors of the wind,

and discovered the enchanted, glass-covered rose.


i went the distance,

lived in the hundred-acre wood,

and wore my glass slippers everyday.


i fought dragons,

found thingamabobs,

and lived a million happily ever afters.


the gown always snug,

the tiara always fit,

and i never forgot my gloves.


then, something dreadful happened.

i grew up,

and

reality hit me hard in the face.


the stars lost their shine,

and i lost my way

to the second star on the right.


the seven dwarves' house seemed even farther away now,

the wind lost its colors,

and the last petal fell.


the roads were blocked,

the dark wood showed its true colors,

and i lost the other pair

of my beautiful glass slippers.


the dragons defeated me,

the thingamabobs were lost to the sea.


i outgrew the gown,

the tiara lost its sparkle,

and my gloves were thrown into the trash.


and i found out,

that in real life,

there are no happily ever-afters.


but, i refuse to let this be so.

one day,

when all this is over,

i will find it.

my castle in the clouds.

and i'll be able to smile again,

and whisper,

"dreams do come true."

Skinny love,
Smile.
You’re beautiful,
Don’t you know?

Skinny love,
Hush.
Don’t cry.
I want you,
Don’t you know?

Skinny love,
Stop.
Stop thinking
Stop listening to
Stop telling yourself
Lies.
I chose you,
Don’t you know?

Skinny love,
You
Are
Loved
Don’t you know?

“Maybe if my legs were slim,
and my lips rose-pink,
and my hair like silk,
and my hands white petals,
you would love me more.
Maybe if I could sing,
and dance,
and capture people with my
star-like smile,
you would look at me more closely.
Maybe if my grades
never saw an 89,
you would smile,
and clap,
and tell me wonderful things.
Maybe if I spoke with
a silver tongue and
could convince with my
bright, 20/20 vision eyes,
you would hug me tighter.
Maybe if…”

Child, maybe, maybe, maybe.
But, really,
even if your legs were elephants,
your lips blue,
your hair seaweed,
and your hands sandpaper,
I would still love you.

Even if your voice
sounded like frogs at night,
and your feet
stepped all over mine,
and your mouth
was cut up from all of that fixing metal,
I would still love you.

Even if your grades
never saw an 89,
I would still love you
and tell you all sorts of wonderful things.
Even if your tongue was bound by chains,
and you tripped and stumbled over your vowels,
I would still love you.

Child, to them your legs may not be slim,
your lips may not be the shade of roses,
your hair may not be silk,
and all of those silly, fickle, worldly things, but
to me,
you are beautiful.
So beautiful.
I breathed out the stars for you.
I created for you.
I shed for you.
I bled for you.
I died for you.

Why
do you still doubt?
Why
do you still fear?
Why
do you still look at yourself
in a way
that makes you question what I have made?

Child, look at me.
Look.
at.
Me.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Let's hold the sun, you and I
and bring it to the other side of the sky
to where even the shadows stumble
and ears ache to hear praise

we'll burn our fingers
and scorch our lashes
but it will be worth it

for a man who walks by day will not fade
it is when he walks by night
that the tapered fingers creep in
to dampen the flame that barely flickers

So, let's hold the sun, you and I
and bring it to the other side of the sky
we will be ******
we will be torn
but we'll shine
and they'll rise.

Rumblings and mumblings

That’s all my lips can form.

Murmurs and whispers

That’s the loudest of my sounds.

A twisted body so

Disheveled and small.

Yes, I am

Special.

Stares and glares.

Mockery and discrimination.

Everyday gifts from people

Oh-so-kind.

“Stupid,” my teacher

Whispers to another.

“Into the last class she goes.”

A stinging heart and

Angry tears flood.

I want to shout, “No!’

But out comes a deafening nothing.

You call me Special?

I am not blind.

Or stupid.

Or thick.

I know that by Special, you mean

Idiot.

Why do you look at my

Tiny frame and

Think that since my body

Cannot function like yours,

My brain must be the same?

I can do

Anything I put my mind to.

I can learn.

I can live.

I can love.

I have so much.

So much to give.

But why won’t you let me?

I think

It is you who is disabled.

You are not able to see

Everything I can become.

Who I’m meant to be.

What I can and will do.

Yes, I am Special.

Yes.

But not the Idiot ‘Special’ you think.

I am me.

I

Am

Jane.

Remember that name.

jar of clay
holding,
cracking,
thirsting.
unfinished,
fickle,
and imperfect.
thirsty soul
craving spirit
searching always
for the Potter.
a mere wave,
             whisper,  
             vapor,
soon to pass.
a jar of clay
am
     i.

I'd like to think otherwise
but this ship is aimlessly afloat,
maybe her sails do whip higher
and her anchor does cast deeper
but when being stretched both ways
where does that leave her?

Port and starboard
have never looked more the same
but this ship is still starbound,
still hopes to anchor herself to the moon,
still keeps her crow's nest
a little weatherbeaten, but with better navigation
more aimless than she'd like, but still afloat
not sure where she's going, but still she runs
never seen it before, but she knows it's North
oh, she knows. now she knows.

I've been
waiting seven centuries for you to
meet me halfway
keeping a close eye on the movements of the planets when
all I had to do was to
spin a hundred and eighty degrees.

you haven't changed.

i've no right to say that,
we've only just met, but

you haven't changed.

let me be the
wet fleece on
dry ground, may I
hear the sound
of jars breaking

soon.

sometimes you need to
see the world as if
you're waking up for the
      f
i         r
s
                     t


time.

I saw you from the time
you were a sapling
gasping for carbon dioxide,

you didn't deserve it
but you were given beyond
what your branches
could carry

yet I will love you
until all your leaves fall
and your roots turn to ash.

The first time I asked for an Impossible Thing
was not in the lazy summer afternoon lull when
Lola was cutting out my newspaper sword and you said
yes, you would be my dragon. Yes,
you would be my horse. Yes,
you would be my prince.  Yes,

I may ride your stiffened shoulders
as many hours as I like. Yes,
you'll buy me chocolate covered marshmallows
and chocolate kisses and chocolate bars. Yes,
you'll laugh at everything I say,
listen to my songs and stories, watch me dance, but

No.

You will not stop poisoning
your lungs, but yes. You will
give me chewing gum, ask me
to step outside, while I watch
another second of your life leave
as your chest heaves, phlegm
piercing your throat like shards.

I can still smell the smoke, Lolo.
Ashes to ashes.

I can still smell the smoke, Lolo.

It's not that she won't try or
that she is wallowing in fear
it's just that
she is still learning
how to make mistakes

the years have turned gray your thickets
tangled your vines, shaken your roots
you've made many a home in your glen
shadows surrounding, shadows keeping.
tell me how it feels to be pulled out
into the clearing, to have the sun
light leaves enough to bring veins
to the surface, revealing, revealing

does this scare you?

to see marks on a once empty map
footprints in the soil
thorns on the ground
and a nest being built.

tell me, does this scare you?

I came to you carrying baggage someone of my stature shouldn't be even touching; I thought here I'd get to used to my burdens and forget that the yoke on my shoulders was causing my ribs to close so tight around my heart that I'd find myself gasping for air sometimes, but I was wrong.

2. Here, I found my resting place. Here I learned to lay my head down on fields of green next to still streams and sing the song of revival with my feet wrapped in peace.

3. I thought I knew how to show love by injecting smiles into my system and lightly bandaging the broken, but it turns out that sincerity is a necessity, and what's in always comes out; and I had to learn to cut some roots, break the topsoil and allow the planting to begin. I hope you see seedlings from where you are.

4. Humble myself, humble myself, less of me, less of me. I thought that humility was pouring lies into a cup, toasting to their victory and my defeat, tasting the words on my tongue before allowing them to settle in my stomach where the poison would spread, paralyzing everything I can and could have become.

5. I've seen the way you love. You love with your eyes, with your smile, with the way you tap my shoulder, with the way you speak; your words are an overflow from a well of life, and I want to have that too, but I know the digging must take place. The digging is taking place.

6. I'm under construction undergoing renovation, but it's okay because I came here gagging on my poison, but I'm leaving with the antidote.

7. You never would have guessed by the way I took control that under that calm smile spelling "I got this", I was terrified of letting you down. I decided I wouldn't, so I tried to force flow water into my dry branches even though I knew it was time to cut them off.

8. I could smell change coming before the season began, so I braced myself and tried to direct the sun's rays elsewhere. By the time they hit, I realized that I can't choose where the sun will rise and set, or which sky the eagles will command or how bright the stars will glow. I am the tree, not the tree planter.

9. The sawing is painful, but the fruit I bear will last me a lifetime. So I watch my branches burn with hope, knowing that the seeds I drop will grow. You thought the heat would make me shrivel, but they only pushed my roots deeper into the ground.

10. Another door opened, another door closed. I hope we one day open the same one.

we talk of
      not so faraway lands

and feet that won't keep still.

                          
                        apparently i'm
more like you than you'd like.

              always wondering and
                       always wandering.


but my heart will always be

                here.

on wooden planks,
murmurs turn into movement
a tangible, silk rhythm
where the mute find their voice
in leaps and spins
in the brush of a heel
in between kneecaps
i am a little more me
and a little less She

this morning I realized
how much I
ex
hale
breathing                                          o   ­     u         t
everything my tongue biting hides.

maybe I should start writing my mind.

TAKE IT
TAKE IT ALL
I AM SICK
OF HOLDING ONTO DESIRES
THAT DON'T COME FROM YOU

empty me
empty me
then
fill me
fill me
and please,
show me
show me
the way.
Your way.

**** me
**** me
then
raise me
raise me

i will hurt
i will cry
i will try to fight
but
i
want
YOU

I tried missing you and wondered why
I healed so quickly.
Then six o'clock struck and I realized
how
wrong
I
was.

I've got a ring
a string
of keys on the table
I've got
gold keys and black keys
silver keys and rusty keys
round keys and square keys
I've got
everything I know I need
I thought I need
I think I need?
I've got
every key which I got
through every, any
means, but
why won't your heart open to any of these?

I wish that one day I will

write words

that would pierce hearts

and seem as if

they were woven with magic

touch lives

and come alive

I wish inspiration

would come as easily

as a bee is drawn to honey

I wish

urgh

asdfghjkl

I (hate) poetry.

I once heard a story
A story of a man, he
Worked under the sun’s scorching fingers
Still he lingered
Labored
And at the end of the day
By faith
Gave up his very best
Leaving the not-so-good rest
For himself.


Through his actions
He left
Something
Something for us to think about
Something for us to imitate
And recreate
And apply
To our daily lives
This man
By faith
He gave his best
And so do we.


I once heard a story
A story of a woman, she
Was blessed with beauty
Donned in a robe
Of purple and gold
Hair combed with Persian oil
Piercing dark eyes
And, knowing that she could die
Took heart
Swallowed her fears and
Saved a people
            a nation
            a race
By faith
She took courage
And so do we.


I once heard a story
A story of a boy, he
Had nothing to offer
Just
Five cold loaves and two little fish
That boy, unselfishly
Generously
Humbly gave
Everything he had
By faith
He gave everything
He had
And so do we.


All these people
Led by example
And left thumbprints
On our minds
On our hearts
They left
Something
Something called


The trail that you blaze
The memory you create
The footprints you leave
The mark you place
The “I was here” sort
The dent you make
The story people will tell
For generations
And generations
To come


So, wake up!
Shake off the shackles
Break those chains
Tear down the walls
That have been imprisoning you
Holding you
Keeping you
From being who you were called to be
For that is true freedom


Arise from where you are
You chosen people
You royal priesthood
You holy nation
You children belonging
To the Most High


Raise your voices like trumpets
Shout aloud
Do not hold back
For you have been set apart
Redeemed
Renewed
Reborn and
Redefined


It’s time
To be the salt
And the light
You were made to be
Not conforming
Not compromising
To the pattern


It’s time
To start being
A leader who serves
Protects
Loves
A leader by example
A leader through actions
And words


It’s time to make your mark
It’s time to throw the dart
It’s time to blaze your trail
It’s time to write your story
It’s time to quit hiding
It’s time to leave
It’s time to leave a legacy.

He was a lost wanderer
With nothing but
A restless heart and
Empty hands.

Couldn't find any safe shelter,
Headed nowhere
On a way-less road.

Always a running fugitive
With no goal at hand
Sick of soaring through the skies
With no place to land
He cried,

"Pick me up,
Dust me off,
Put me on the right track
Don't want to roam
Like a misguided reflection
Of a soul-less apparition.
Let me arrive!"

There were no signs,
No pointing arrows
Showing him where he was meant to go

Stuck in the endless,
Empty cycle.
Trapped inside
His own shadow

"Give me something,
I need something.
Give me a purpose,
A reason,
A destination...

Let me arrive."