Do you believe in miracles?
I do, more than before.
I know a hand will not grow back,
that my eyes will never see colors
the way they did last summer,
and I cannot bring back with longing
those who have already crossed
to the other side of verse.
Still, as long as my lungs open
to take in air from this place,
I know I won't give up.
In an apocalyptic allegory,
I saw our helplessness.
I couldn't leave us there,
sitting in a dark corner.
So, I stayed
to share our fears.
Things seemed easier
for both of us.
Sadness can be a place of rest too,
but we were not meant
to stay there for long.
The world breathes through thousands
of stories like this.
We are once again
on opposite sides of the ocean,
yet we are still
on the same page.
Metaphors are no longer
so weightless.
Let there be more
birdsong,
blooming spring,
and less
of a grey November.
Let's change
what we can.
Let's save
what remains.
And let the reward be this:
we made it,
and we did not take
the easy path.
Miracles happen
with us and without us.
A hand will not grow back,
but there is enough
selfless love
to understand
that less can be more.
We need more happy endings,
for us,
and for this hurt
but still precious world.