I always wished I was mysterious. Like a flower that blooms at night. Who’s vivacity is only seen with squinted eyes. Eyes with blunted pupils trying to cut through a dim moon light. The greatness of the mystery of this night flower lies within that which the eyes can’t fully catch. The percentage of flower that’s unseen. I always wished I had a percentage unseen. A part of me that somehow managed to be everywhere but the place comprehension casts its spotlight. I wanted this mystery because, the blank space that it is, is always filled with pure and honest wonder. The type of wonder that starts as the seed for the worlds greatest stories. The type of wonder that grows into worlds beyond the bounds of thought. I wish I had spaces in me that caused wonder. That inspired worlds. But, instead of the shadows of night, I am like the sun. Fully caught in the web of the sky and burning bright for all to see. I am like the bible. With its words that write like stone and commanding voice that burns discrepancies into the air with undiluted confidence. There’s no mystery to me. There’s no stillness. Even in my sleep, a part of me is always dancing. I always longed for stillness. Nothingness. But every time I try to slow down, it seems the mystery of the night dissipates. Once I let myself adjust to the black, everything becomes clearer. Vision crisps, shadows brighten, and every question has an answer. When I’m still, I miss moving. The rush it gave my heart. The colors that blurred across my skin. The mystery that stillness held. I wasn’t made to pause. I wasn’t made to float in the tranquil. I was meant to love it. From the open window of my sprinting body. Screeching tire marks on tepid waters. I love tepid waters. I’ll scream to everyone what I think I saw under its surface. Like the horn of an angel welcoming another soul in to heaven.