Real life is on our fingertips.
The flick of a feather.
Real life is on the tips of our tongues.
Words stuck in the middle of your open throat.
Real life is in the air beneath our feet when we run.
But every time we leave the ground,
gravity announces our place
on this earth once more.
Real life floats through our minds.
When that song
begins to play,
and the rhythm
makes our bones become alive again
But the song must come to an end eventually.
Real life
is out there.
Every day.
We're making it.



We're making it.