There were lights in the distance I couldn’t own.
I saw them frequently, counting them like stars and wondering if they were lost to the sky also. There were days I was brave enough to search them out, but they only disappeared as I got closer, not ready to reveal themselves to me, never wanting me to own them.
The people in the cities told me not to look for them.
“Look at all the jewels we have in our kingdom!” they said. “Why would you be interested in those lights in the distance?”
Then they handed me the jewels they spoke of, bragging of their fine quality. But as I held them I realized they were made of flawed glass; fragile and easily shattered.
Oh! But they had become so precious to the people in the cities, and they replaced their brick walls with glass jewels, chattering about glass ceilings and walls that would never withstand a storm.
And I was considered a fool for wanting those lights in the distance, fodder for the gossip mills who couldn’t understand why I had no interest in glass ceilings.
I was only interested in the stars beyond them.
I wanted those faint lights in the distance that no one ever looked at, blinded by the light of their fragile glass jewels.
They never realized that glass was easily blown back to sand, while the stars were made of fire.
And so I continued to search for the lights in the distance, praying I could own a fire so bright that I could never be blown back into dust.
From my book, LOVE AND OTHER BROKEN THINGS. Available in bookstores and on Amazon.
