Some sunny day,
Things will be better.
Less tears to cry,
Less reasons to cry them.
If we can't go on forever,
I'd prefer us to live a happy life.
Happy people are in short supply,
But in high demand.
Some day,
Happy people will be common,
It'll be the sad people who saved themselves,
That'll be respected.

Our embraces linger,
each one carrying the urgency of being the last.
Time, surrendering, pauses to watch us,
and in that stillness
we become two frightened children—
fragile, yet endlessly brave.

To look into your eyes is a perfect moment,
a mirror of dormant memories,
of longing to fly,
and of the persistent hope
that we might find each other again.

Let me hold you once more,
let the caresses on your hands never cease,
nor the gentle warmth of your skin.

Let me feel how our heartbeats
merge into one,
and how the thunder of this union
shatters our senses.

For a moment—perhaps brief, perhaps eternal—
we are splendidly fleeting:
you and I,
completely in love.

Nothing is ideal in this world.
Be that mess and own it!

Find some peace within you that you can cling to.

Want nothing.
Wanting something only causes stress.

Nothing is ideal in this world.
Be that mess, nothing to lose.

But the distractions, discomfort and the trials are there to disrupt everything.
Everything is a lot.

You can’t expect anything.
Anything’s possible.

But nothing is ideal.
Be that mess, don’t find comfort.

Find patience.
Patience gives you time.

Sometimes it takes too long.
The winner takes everything and you can’t win.

But you also can’t lose.
Because you can’t lose everything.

Everything is too much.
You have to start all over again.

And you can do that sometimes but how many times?
At what cost?
Nothing costs nothing.

But nothing is ideal.
Be that mess and own it!

I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?

At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.

After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley