Nine Lives

If I had nine lives, I would spend the first one jumping from a tall mountain, the wind in my hair, and filling my lungs, the full feeling of freedom. After that, maybe I'd find peace and wouldn’t fear the mountains. I'd spend my final eight lives in the mountains, never being scared to fall. 

I would spend my second and third lives in the shadows of others, seeping in all their goals and regrets, find their deepest secrets, so I don’t mess up lives four through nine. I'd spend my fourth life running away, wondering why I am the way I am and why I can't be like my peers. They look so happy, so free. “What went wrong with me?” I’d ask.

I would run through fields and chase butterflies. I would look for my people but in all the wrong places, the wrong cities, states, countries? I would be still too naïve to know I have to live for myself, not in the shadows of the masked people around me. Before I know it, I will have run through three of my nine lives. 

In my seventh life, I would listen to society, work a nine-to-five with a stable income, settle for a man I'm not sure I'm in love with, but he’s good to me and my children. We would live in a big, white house with blue shutters and a picket fence. We would have a big fluffy dog, one that barks at the wind but then settles in front of the fireplace. 

For my eighth life, I would live alone in a little apartment in New York City. I would work in the fashion industry but never feel in the right place. I would write stories in the little worn-down corner of my apartment that looks into the Upper East Side. I would read in the little cafe two blocks from where I live. I would do yoga, eat healthy, and walk to work, but have a glass of wine before bed. I would raise a small dog by myself and he would sit and watch as I took my last breath. 

In my final life, I would look for you. I would wait at bus stops and move back to our home town. I would go into the grocery store hoping I would “accidentally” run into you. Little do you know you're all I think about. I would write letters I would never send, but regret it later. After living eight lives I would realize something was missing. Going about life without the person I loved would make it all feel meaningless. 

But I don't have nine lives. I just have this one. So I guess I'll spend it hiking mountains and looking for you.