I lose myself sometimes.

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Like the Hatter says to Alice, I lose my muchness.

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I forget what it’s like at the top of the rabbit hole because I am so busy looking up I cannot see how far I have already come and that I am almost out on the other side of this world.

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I call out in frustrations at the handholds I cannot reach, just outside of my grasp. But my voice bounces back off the rocks right in front of me waiting to be grabbed. The ones I should have seen if only I had looked closer.

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I sway in the breeze when when I swing from ledge to ledge. When did I get this small?

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What magic tonic can I drink to make me feel brave or better yet big? So nothing can hurt me ever again.

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As I stomp through this garden of roses painted red with anger, I cannot help but wonder how far I must wander before I feel home again.

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I come to a fork in the road with questions behind smiles without faces, I struggle to choose. “Who are you?” and “where do you want to go?” are the directions I must take, and I do not understand this roadmap.

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I panic.

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I cannot sit still as my pieces fall away. I will surely forget my own name this time.

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It’s that sort of feeling when I look in the mirror and girl that looks back once seemed much more muchier the last time she wondered to this land.

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I look.

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Away.

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Until, I remember.

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That I, who have fallen down a rabbit hole the size of this earth (1), and I who has shrunk (2) and then grown (3) and then shrunk back to size again (4), and I who have trapezed through the strangest terrains of curiouser and curiouser(5), believe in as many as 6 impossible things before breakfast and it is only 3am. I still have one more impossible thing to find… Myself.