My heart still beats, and there’s still air in my lungs. So I can feel the breeze on my skin. Taste the brine coming off the ocean. Swim in Lake Superior and bury my feet in the sand. So I can count the scars stitching my skin together, each one with a story. Collect rocks to line my windows. Find places to fall in love with. So I can dance in the rain and walk barefoot in the forest. Write poetry, filling notebooks of hopes and dreams and memories behind the words I write. So I can count the stars and learn the stories of all the constellations. Chase passion and happiness as far as I can. Wander until I am exhausted, following the wanderlust without end. Find myself in the foothills of either the Rockies or the Pyrenees. Get lost in new places and become someone new. So I can collect stories - my own and those of others. Live a life that makes me happy. FInd the small things that bring me joy.
It’s good to feel like I’m still alive. With air in my lungs and a heart that still beats strong.
