You know me,
But you don't know my name.

I am the light in your eyes,
The first time you opened them.
Blank slate, they said,
But not quite - I was there
To guide you.

I am the warmth of your mother's gaze,
And that choking feeling she got
The first time she watched you
Walk into a classroom.
I am the freedom of
your first bicycle,
No training wheels, no handlebars
And I am the arms that caught you
Before you fell into a puddle,
And brought you home,
And wrapped you safe in blankets.

I am summer storms
The warm kind - the ones that make you
Want to cuddle around a campfire, telling stories
With your friends
And laughing at jokes no one else can understand.
I am lightning,
Flashes of magic,
the kind that
Lights up clouds from the inside out
And sends white-hot sparks dancing
Through your shoulder blades.

I am the sound of
Twenty million raindrops
Drumming a rhythm onto the roof of your car.
And I am the calmness,
Shallow breathing,
The beat of two adjacent hearts
And the warmth of her hair
As it rustles against your bare skin.

I am that sick feeling
When you watch the news at night
And that man, the murderer,
Is sentenced to death.
I am the hole in your stomach,
That sudden tug of guilt
And a fierce impulse to run into the courtroom
And stand between that man and the
Stone-faced jury.

I am the rush of emotion
When you seize her shoulders
And wrap them in your arms, eyes
Tightly shut
To hold back tears that stream out anyway.
I am the weight in your stomach
When you pull her in
Whispering 'I love you'
In a thousand different languages
Each time not quite capturing
The full weight of what you feel.

I am the freedom
And the intimacy of a moonlit night.
I am the look in your friend's eyes
On his deathbed, one hundred years
As he grabs your arm, and whispers,
'It's been a good ride,'
And you smile and nod down at him,
Understanding.

I am the feeling that brings tears
Welling to your eyes,
Laughter bursting from your lungs,
Warmth shooting through your veins.
I am that sacred feeling
When you place your soul in a paper lantern,
Light it on fire,
And set it free.

I am uncommunicable.
You read of me,
And then forget
when you turn away from your book
To sort the laundry.
You feel my presence, sometimes,
An old soul
Bubbling to the surface.
I struggle to form on your lips
But before you can call me,
I am lost in translation.