You’re alive, aren’t you?
Do you feel your heart beating,
under and over, in and out,
weaving together all the people
you have loved, have been loved by–
even those who have not loved
you back? They, too play a part in
this story–the story of coming home.

I don’t know how to tell if I am really
alive, but I can get close. How do I feel
when I stand next to the ocean? Have I
allowed my heart to break for someone that
could not love me back? Have I allowed my
heart to mend with the love from someone
who does?

All I know is this–
I don’t want to die simply have paid this
world a visit. I don’t want to have a heart and
not have it broken, then repaired, by love. And
I don’t want to have legs that, on some days don’t
ache, and not have them run toward the bright, beaming
light at the end of it all.