I just listened to a song,
Your song on the radio.
You said you hoped that I would live life like I was dying.
Someday.
Someday I would like to live that way.
Someday.
Someday I could stop being afraid of failing
Someday I could stop wasting my time with all my “should do”s
Someday, if I was living life like I was dying
I would just do what it is that I want to do.
I could be a writer, writing.
I could be a painter, painting.
I could be a musician, playing.
I could be a dancer, dancing.
I could be a teacher, teaching.
I could be a student, learning.
I could be a spouse, loving.
I could be a parent, caring.
I could be a body, feeling.
I could be a spirit, hoping.
But for now, most of the time
I am a writer, yearning to write.
I am a painter, yearning to paint.
I am a musician, yearning to play.
I am a dancer, yearning to dance.
I am a teacher, yearning to teach.
I am a student, yearning to learn.
I am a spouse, criticizing.
I am a parent, scolding.
I am a body, judging.
I am a spiriting, crying.
Someday, I too hope I live life like I am dying.
Maybe, then, I could forgive.
Maybe, then, I could live.
