I’m a helpless romantic. And not the Hollywood kind no
Moreso the American Parisian king of 1920
I see with my heart instead of my eyes
I feel with my whole being
I hear God in the singing of the blue jay and the howl of sirens alike
That person down the street is on their last exhale and the blue jay is feasting on life
I feel God in the rising of the Sun at dawn
I feel him
Reminding me that he is an artist
That he has a sense of humor
That my days are numbered
So to live and be alive
To inhale
And to write.

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