Sometimes the lesson is that there is no lesson at all.
Sometimes I find myself digging through a closet looking for my bell, book, or candle, and somehow rummage out whole reams of things that should be left on shelves. Tea parties and old shoes and scary, scary monsters. Rummaging frequently gets me in trouble. I don't think that when I'm not around people describe me by saying, "She spends a lot of her time looking for writing on blank pages and forgetting first names," but it wouldn't be inaccurate if they did.
Still, when I leave here, I'll miss this.
Carved into the bottom of my walking shoes will be, "Wanted to throw her wrenches at you, but forgot. Is frequently distracted by unnoticeable things. If lost, hold up a buttercup and look for what is stained yellow."
It'll be stamped into all of the dirt and pavement and superheated air that I cross. I'll leave easy trails to follow.
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