It’s Not the Size of the Wand

It’s not the size of the wand,
it’s whether what the wand is being used against
is impervious to magic.

It’s not the length of the journey
it’s the miles on the tires,
the knocks under the hood,
the multiple warning lights on.

It’s not the sharpness of the curve,
it’s what’s waiting behind the bend.

It’s not the thickness of the fog,
it’s what the fog is hiding.

It’s not being late to the party,
it’s acting as if the party was a funeral.

It’s not whether the door is locked,
it’s whether you are inside of a house.

It’s not the ear against the door,
it’s the mouth inside the room.

It’s not the puncture,
it’s the prick with a pin

It’s not the gun,
it’s the ammunition
and its velocity upon impact.

It’s not the going in reverse,
it’s the stuck in neutral.

It’s not the treading water,
it’s never reaching the sea.

It’s not the void,
it’s what fills the void.

It’s not the rain,
it’s what you’re made of.

It’s not the steepness of the climb,
it’s the lack of oxygen.

It’s not how you run the race,
it’s whether you’re in the right race.

It’s not how fast the wheel turns,
it’s whether the wheel has hit the road.

It’s not the weight on your back,
it’s the 90% blockage in your heart.

It’s not the waiting,
it’s what the end of waiting implies.

It’s not the good night’s sleep,
it’s where you are sleeping
and the things you had to do
to be get there.

It’s not passing judgment,
it’s judging passing.

It’s not what has been done,
it’s the remembering.

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