Perhaps it was an accident. 

Or more just a period of life lived. 

But now it’s our deciding factor. 

It is our reason according to them. 

One of those things that was not yet words when we lived it

But simply experience. 

Something we “went through.”

Something we “survived.”

Something we emerged from beaten or victorious. 

But once we keep walking 

And it is simply a fragrance on a breeze

Fading away as we trudge on,

I’ve noticed they keep bringing it up.  

Like the beckoning scent of something warm when it’s cold out, 

They offer it to us as if it’s right beside us.

“Perhaps this is why”

So we look around

But it’s not there. 

We left it behind. 

We failed or overcame it. 

So we tell them

And move on. 

We go forward.

Sometimes the steps are easy

Sometimes they’re hard. 

Sometimes someone walks by with an apple pie and

That scent nails our feet to the ground.

Our muscles freeze and cramp and hold us in 

awful anticipation of what that scent brings with it. 

But sometimes our heels bump an unexpected stone 

and send us soaring 

Onto our behinds down the road. 

But as we laugh and brush the dust from the backs of our knees

They may say 

“It was the pie wasn’t it.”

No, of course it wasn’t the pie. It was a stone. 

And they’ll smile or shake their heads feverishly as if they’ve called you Mr. as a Miss.

“Of course, of course.”

So we keep walking. 

Until we meet a fork and you walk right or left. It doesn’t really matter. 

But we’ll see them again and they’ll say

“Oh you came this way?”

And we’ll say yes.

And they’ll say “oh because of the pie?”

No, not because of the pie. 

I just liked this side. There were flowers and

The trees hung over the path in a nice way.

There was some shade. 

“Of course! Of course.” 

And they’ll nod and shake again

In some confoundingly pitiful way. 

And our bows will furrow through our smiles. 

And our eyes will narrow to the words we don’t say. 

But we’ll continue on.

Until we reach a cliff or a river or a ravine or a wild animal.

So we’ll turn from the cliff or the river or wild animal or ravine

And we’ll find a sensible path forward that anyone in their right mind would. 

And we’ll see them again and their eyes will light up—

“You’re here! You made it!”

Yes!

“Because of the pie!”

No not—

It wasn’t because of the pie; it was the sensible choice.

But then the scent seems to come back.

And there’s this realization that 

the path we started on began 

at the end of something else. Which 

began at the end of something else 

which began, 

perhaps,

when you first smelled that scent. 

Perhaps each and every choice you’ve made walking down this road was all because you initially made the choice to walk away from that breeze on the back of your neck and now no matter how far away from it you get that one breeze is the cause of all that’s followed. 

Perhaps each step you’ve taken away from it is a step you carry it closer with you to your destination. 

But it isn’t always because of the pie.

Maybe,

each of these paths were indeed our own. 

Perhaps each step we took had it’s own unique motivation—

A motivation that may or may not have had anything, everything, or nothing to do with

That fucking pie.

We chose to walk away and we chose to keep going.

We chose to laugh at our tumbles 

And look at the flowers.

And it wasn’t because of the pie. 

It was because of us.