Most mornings, my first waking thought is:, ”Life is the best gift anyone has ever received,
surpassed only by consciousness and freedom.”

When this happens, it’s impossible to leave
without first setting a plan to pursue
the sparks that ignite my ephemeral flame.
I want to leap with abandon, 
fill the day with never-befores, 
and share every last thing in my head.

But the long days have ways of reminding me
that I am a player
in the less existential realities of others.
That I chase fruitless romantic dreams.
That I am not truly free.
That if I don’t slow,
I will destroy every structure
that scaffolds my sturdy life.

But is it worth the fall?
I’m afraid that I might truly think it is.
When I feel that shine -
when I have that glimmer in reach -
when I’m intoxicated with the scent and the buzz -
when I begin to glow -
I really do.

But of course, I could be wrong.
And maybe my freedom is like a religion.
It feels real to me,
but all evidence points toward the contrary.