The world did not understand her sometimes

But who did the world understand?

Other than the one’s who did and walked and talked and attempted to dream the exact same way

Because they thought they had to?

And to her,

That wasn’t living

She did not want to be understood by the walking dead

The one’s who dreamed only when they slept at night

She wanted to live a life dreaming with her eyes wide open

Living consciously the life she saw, right in front of her very face

And the world sometimes didn’t understand her

The way she walked and talked and dreamed misunderstood, driving across the country with eyes wide open

Missing turn after turn

On purpose

from my book, Finding Wilder

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