lost
I close my eyes and I’m in a field. The wind sways and I sway with it. I realize I’m alone, though that’s not what makes me lost. I could open my eyes and the field would disappear; it’s only a product of my imagination. But somehow I know if I open my eyes I’ll still feel the long grass itch at my legs and the warm breeze breathe down my neck. Sometimes I feel lost. Most times, I realize that I am. Apart from the roaring wind in my ear, the field is quiet, almost peaceful if it wasn’t for the screaming questions in my head. As I close my eyes I try to look at myself standing in the field, my hair astrew. I paint myself in my mind, I know the face I’m looking at is my own, but it’s not quite right. I’m missing something. I try to remember looking into a mirror at home but my mind is suddenly Crisp. White. Blank. I panic. I don’t remember what I look like, the contours of my face, the wrinkles of my smile, the back of my hand. Who am I? I am Lost. The sun rises to midday. I feel the heat warm my scalp. I see the sun shine through the grass, creating a sea of gold. I climb in a row boat, but it stays eerily still amongst the
26
waves of gold grass. There is something anchoring me down. The field is wide. It’s open. It’s quiet. It’s deafening. I don’t know where I am, but that’s not the only reason I’m Lost. The sun begins to drop. How long have I been standing here? “WHERE TO NEXT?” the loudest voice in my head screams. “Move,” the wind whistles in my ear. Suddenly I’m running, destination unclear. But the pressure, the need to find the answers to the questions I don’t know how to ask presses on me. It’s suffocating. I know that I am Lost. Sometimes I feel empty. Most times, I know I’m not. I wonder if I’ll be Lost forever. The thought haunts me. I reach out to swat it away. I want to tear it apart and bury it beneath the grass and pretend it never happened. But it’s there. I can’t forget it. It’s too late. It echoes in my mind. Ricochets off my fear. Maybe it’s not so bad. Not a lot of people have the guts to get Lost. Sicerely Yours,
Bailee Hunter
