Life is a series of deaths

A hopeless tangle of merges and exit ramps

dusty back roads and rushing highways

endlessly aching for what we can’t live without

when the truth of our joy rests within

So much infinitely finite time seeking

what we cannot see but sense

what we cannot find but feel

what we cannot have but hope for

what we cannot uncover for ourselves

in the external world

yet it all

exists

waiting to be discovered

when we

unapologetically, completely, truly

love

our

perfectly

imperfect

selves.