The Collector

My grandmother whispered in my ear,

“ Reach for the stars, girl”

I believed in her calm voice and soft palm on my shoulder, so I did.

The stars looked far at first but over time the stretch seemed to be less impossible.

Much more possible.

The voice in my head made my fingers reach farther and farther.

Reach Girl, Reach.

Until I looked around my room and saw the stars that I had been collecting over the years.

How much they shone in my little glass room. In each star there were millions of diamonds and in each diamond rest a billion sparkles of light.

Each drop of light held a glimpse of my happiness, dancing like something shimmering beneath the waters of paradise.

My little glass room had no chance of darkness.

Then one day a miracle happened and those stars that I had climbed and dug for, reached high and low for, turned into something magical.

I looked at the face of my daughter and whispered into her ear,

“ Honey, you reach for the stars, you hear me?”

Reach, baby.


Lindsay Reva.

Photo by Danee Hazama Photography

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