Is This the Life We Really Want?

g down on my skin like summer pavement. I stood frozen, not out of confide

stand, not for show, but because

e auditorium stretched out in front of me, filled with shadows and waiting

bt showed up. Quiet

't land? What if I forget everything I

erformance. It's not a curated moment or a polished

ina Wells. Most p

Another spoken word piece. But life doesn't ask for permission before it change

ivity Conference. Theme: "Rewrit

ing major. I wasn't even part of the main lineup. Ju

s blurred together. Recited it so many times in front

version, even the bad ones. He believed in me. Said my

r like a lifeline. My heart was racing so loud I could feel it in my teeth. My throat was dry. My

in my head. "Next, we have a piece by on

tage, even the heat of the lights. Then, like

he crowd, avoiding faces. The spotlight burned into my forehead, casting shadows I didn't recogn

eep and calm from the night before: "Yo

mouth. And I

n the middle

breath of my fa

didn't cry-I ar

s always sounded like a

steadied as the rhythm carried me. The poem wasn't just words-it was a release. I gave them every inch o

eathless. Weightless. Like I'd just run throu

was a

fusion. The kind that swell

he room. I saw someone in the second row press their knuckles to t

ish into the curtain's safety. But jus

he stood at the back of the auditorium, arms crossed,

-like he was studying not the poem, but the person behind

king. My knees didn't feel like mine. Part of me wanted to cry. Anot

re. And maybe, just maybe, it was th

tes later, grinning like I

said, pulling me into one of those hugs that c

" I whispered aga

t," he said, pressing

hter of the dust but destined f

on to salt-and-vinegar chips. He'd made those chaotic first days feel lighter, manageable. He was sh

looked at me lik

aid, tucking a loose curl b

then slipped outside to catch my breath.

en I saw

one of the campus sculptures, thumbing through h

back when he looke

id quickly, c

calm kind of confidence. "You did a remarkab

nsure if I should sm

ne who's already live

wered, folding my arm

nd again, simple a

No credentia

" I re

aid. "But tonight? Tonight felt differe

by how sincere it sounded. "

ow, it re

, especially not from someone like him. I had braced for a polite nod, maybe a short "well

rced. Just enough to make it clea

in the air, like he wasn't just passing thr

his pocket and pull

g," he said, holding it out. "Write.

a dozen different questions. Was he serious? Was this business or somet

. Just a name. A number. N

my journal, the one I brought with me from home, the one already filled w

a blank pa

thing. It reveals w

aus

n w

e life we r

a soft dot on the paper like it was thinking too. And it hit m

s abo

a long while, I realized..