I find myself in a beautiful midwestern farm setting.

My eyes drift up and down the neat rows of plants,

from powder blue flowers to forest green grass.

Suddenly, I find myself in front of a gate 

with a cross tombstone defining the background.

Its old wood looks like it had been through a rough storm.

I surpass the gate with no fence

and find myself at peace in the pleasant garden.

I feel complete—like I had just won a game.

As I make my way to the moss-covered, cracked tomb,

my heart rate begins to speed up,

beating through my ash-grey sweater. 

The cross is at my feet.

I wipe the dust off of the engravement and see

the carved letters of my name staring back at me.