My wish is to be here.
A poem. A prayer. A wish.
What a waste it would be, to spend this fleeting time here trying to be different than I Am.
What a shame it would be to let the stories of others and hurt handed to me dictate what I let myself do; who I let myself be in this short and fleeting life.
What a shame it would be if I let my aging face and fluctuating body keep me from experiencing the sensation of every milestone with dignity and reverence. I’ll never be me, today, ever again.
What’s it like to be me today? Grateful.
I want to savor and receive it fully— none of it will last.
What a waste it would be to get one childhood, one adolescence, one first kiss, one experience of each day, and spend it wishing to be elsewhere.
I wish to be here.
I wish to be me.
I wish so deeply to occupy my life so it changes me. I wish this season leaves an imprint of love on my heart. I wish to grieve it when the page turns once again. I wish to be here. I wish to be here.
What a waste it would be, to forget that right here is the only place that is real.
To forget that life, right here and now, is passing with every exhale, never to return this way again.
What a waste to spend each passing moment wishing it was different… wishing I was different… wishing you were different.
I wish to love it all, feel it all, receive it all, right here.
I wish to not waste any of it. To use it all and let life use me.
I wish to be at my final chapter, exhaling this life with gratitude.
I wish each exhale on the way there would be a prayer of thankfulness.
I wish to be here.
My wish is to be here.
I pray I always remember how simple it can be.
-Madison
