some people say
that to be alive
is to hear yourself breathing,
feel your heart beating incessantly,
taking blood, vessel by vessel, from each vein.

sometimes
i lie awake at night
and i hear myself breathing.
i hear myself breathing and i feel my heart beating,
taking blood, vessel by vessel, from each vein.

i look up at the moon and its pale white face,
in stark contrast with the blackened cloak of night.
i cannot hear its soft, subtle breath.
i cannot hear its heartbeat.

but still, it shines —
shines with a greatness i could never reach,
never conquer.
it shines because it wants to be,
wants to exist.

some might say that the moon could never want.
but i know that brightness.
it does not come unless first there is a longing.

i never hear the moon breathing,
but i see it shine.
and somehow, in that shine,
it is more alive than i will ever be.

(a.m.)