I want to be shaken.
To feel {{ eternity, }}
and taste death.
To dip my feet in youth,
and           sandcastles         of
        build                     out       time.

I want to hold my life in the palms of my hands,
and watch it s.c.a.t.t.e.r. in the wind,
to see which moments light-up-like-stars
or lightning bugs,
And which ones only create ~ dust ~
on other people's keepsakes.
But I'm afraid,              (so afraid)
too much of it would just be ash
that blows ~ away...
And no one could call that beautiful.

If I knew every moment was precious,
I wouldn't spend another moment here.
I want to be moved;
I need to be
                     *shaken.