I am a collector of moments That others might call ordinary. The weight of books in my arms Like promises I get to keep, Their spines whispering stories I haven't lived yet but will In the cathedral of my imagination. I breathe in flowers placed carelessly On windowsills and kitchen tables, As if beauty decided to visit And forgot to leave, Their perfume mixing with morning coffee— That liquid courage that carries me Through life's beautiful, chaotic fuss. Give me mornings with nowhere to rush, Where time moves like honey And I can taste each second, Watch dust particles dance In shafts of light that remind me The world is made of magic We've just agreed to call normal. I am someone who believes In random kisses that taste like surprise, In hugs that last three seconds longer Than necessary, in gifts That say "I saw this and thought of you"— Because love is mostly noticing, Mostly showing up with small offerings.
And I give this back to the world—
I am the one who remembers birthdays,
Who brings soup when you're sick,
Who listens to children's noise
As if it were music,
Because it is music,
The symphony of becoming.
Animals find me soft,
A safe place to rest their trust,
And I wonder if they know
What humans forget—
That gentleness is strength,
That being tender with fragile things
Is the most important skill we have
But mostly, impossibly,
I love just being alive—
The audacious fact of consciousness,
The miracle of waking up
In a body that carries me
Through long hour walks where I think
Too much and not enough all at once.
I am the late night talks
That solve nothing and everything,
Wine with girls that tastes like laughter,
Beer with boys that tastes like belonging,
Driving far with music on
Until I am lost and found
In the same moment.
Sometimes I stay away from home
Just to miss it,
Sometimes I travel with family
To remember that love
Can be complicated and simple
As sharing french fries
And arguing over directions.
I love his words and emotions and feelings,
The way he exists in the world
Like an answered prayer I didn't know
I was praying, and I love
That I get to love him,
That my heart chose someone
Worth the risk of breaking.
And yes, I am not perfect—
I carry insecurities like stones
In my pockets, work on them
Like a gardener tends difficult soil,
Knowing that growth happens
In the dark places first,
That even broken things can bloom.
My imperfections are not flaws
But fingerprints of humanity,
Proof that I am real enough
To doubt, to stumble, to try again
With dirt under my fingernails
And hope still beating
In my chest like a stubborn bird.
This is just the tip
Of what I love about existing,
About being this particular arrangement
Of stardust and longing
Walking around in borrowed time,
Collecting moments like wildflowers,
Grateful for the weight of it all.
I love the life of mine—
Messy and uncertain and short through
With light that has no business
Being this beautiful,
This ordinary,
This absolutely,
Devastatingly
Enough.
