I made it to the end of the tunnel, and there was nothing
There was just me and a recurring dream of losing my voice
There was just me struggling with a foreign language at five
There I was at 31, struggling with the same thing again
I made it to the end of the tunnel
And there was nothing
There was no light
There was just me and the heartbreak a girl caused at 18
Me and the woman I loved at 24
Me at the woman I married at 30
Me and the weight of my mother’s anxiety
Me and my own anxiety
Me and never being able to get it right
Me and the thought of my father’s face
Me and the remembrance of all my cousins’ names
Me and the memory of my dog that died
I made it to the end of the tunnel
But there was nothing
There was no light
There was no wind
There was just me and the face of both Stephanie’s
There was a classroom and laughter
There was the ache of never wanting to live the same thing twice
There was the guilt I feel for always being bored
There was my heart visibly shrunken and beaten by time
There was me and my compassion fatigue
Me and my excuses
Me and my gut-wrenching and never-ending emotional distress
I made it to the end of the tunnel
But there was nothing
There was no light
There was no wind
There were no stars
Just me and my knowledge of the planets
Just me and the small breather life gave me at 26, 27, and 28
Just me and the Pisces period that arrived at 29
I made it to the end of the tunnel
But there was nothing
There was no light
There was no wind
There were no stars
There was no purpose
Just me and a voice inside of me
Telling me that I was the one with the compass
