It was never about finding the truth,
never about finding passion,
or your purpose in life.
It was about surviving,
about scraping out an existence
and saying:
here I will stand,
here I will stay,
this is where I draw the line.

Sometimes your line gets smudged.
Sometimes your hands get tired,
aching muscles,
skin gone metallic and sweaty
from the hammer and chisel.
Carving out a mountain untouched,
far from the rivers and the seas–
no limestone or gypsum here.

Tonight you laugh,
tonight you cry,
tonight you remember to feel.
Music in the air, swooping and light,
bells, flutes, and piano trills,
punctuated with brass and playful drums.
Your body wants to dance,
though you don’t have the choreography.

What is today?
A friend you’ve not seen in ages.

jacksgreyson, Untitled (2017-04-08)

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