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Tell me.

I’ve started to wonder.

Someone said two words to me today. “Just another,” they were.

The words sank down inside my head and stayed there, refusing to come out. Just another. One more, like all the rest. Just another one. Add it to the stack.

It’s true. Lots of times, it’s true. We’re not all beautiful or clever or brilliant or dazzling. We’re not all princes or wizards. We’re not all shining stars or burning fires. We get up in the morning and rush off to work and blink blearily at a gray world wondering–and sometimes not wondering at all. Just being, ordinary.

We’re ourselves.

But I wonder. I wonder if anyone in the world can tell me what that means.

You aren’t what you come from. You aren’t where you’ve been. You aren’t where you’re going, if you’ll even get there still. You aren’t what people think you are. You aren’t what you do. You aren’t what you don’t.


I wonder.

Maybe some people are just what they pretend to be. Maybe they are ordinary. Maybe they are exceptional, but in a forgettable way. Perhaps the world will never shine more brightly or feel its shadows because you are there.

I wonder.

And then I don’t.

You’re something. Everyone is. Even if that something never has a chance to bloom. Everyone has a beautiful story, locked away inside your chest.

I want to hear it, that story. The sound it makes there, beating its wings so you sing as if you could fly when no one else is listening. Who are you underneath, where no one sees you. The laughter you forgot. Are you brave? Are you beautiful? When you close your eyes, do you hear the sound of your soul breathing like a sweet golden melody?

I don’t care if some stories never come true. I don’t care if they should. I don’t care if they’re lofty as the moon or simple as sticking bare toes in summer mud.

Somewhere, there’s a glimmer of remarkable. Hiding just around every corner in this world. And I want to see it, bright as Rumpelstiltskin’s gold and Rapunzel’s braid.

So come tell me your stories, your dreams–true, false, and make-believe. It doesn’t matter which to me. Tell me who you really are–a hero, a rogue, world-traveler, genius. It doesn’t even matter if you have a name.

Tell me.

I promise I’ll listen.


One response to “Remarkable”

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