there is something I wanted to tell you. something about this pillow I am leaning on, about how my legs look when they fall in a certain position. I wanted to mention the wrinkles along my fingers and what I love about the sound of an electric fan. I am trying to remember what I wanted to tell you about being young, about meeting new people and moving to far away places. I wanted to tell you about the vanilla in Zanzibar and the smell of the people. I wanted to mention the cliffs out east. something about a restaurant in bare feet and my walks down a particular street in Nairobi. there is something wonderful about a small town, hidden by the corn rows standing tall in the Midwest; there is something magical that happens to me when I am wearing a new dress. I wanted you to know about the day they broke my heart, I wanted to show you the little music shop where I bought my first guitar. there is something I wanted to tell you. something about how I make my tea or about the wind last night that cracked our window or about the little wooden shoes I bought when I was over seas. something about the way my skin looks when I am rolling out of bed or something about this dream I had that still lingers in my head.