What does it mean to be truly alive?

Is it the glittering tales of love and its rose-colored glasses?
Or can it be the solitary solidity that we find in special relationships, both platonic and romantic?

What about the stories spun to entrance us into their mystifying glory?
Or is it the memories of those who have so greatly influenced us?

What will it feel like?

Will it be the brush of delicate fingertips between lovers?
Or will it be the sacred, shared smiles of siblings?

What about the tapping away at a keyboard to express our bountiful desires and ambitions?
What about the feel of paper as our eyes dance hurriedly to finish a captivating story?


Even though I am young and have not experienced the world like the wise seniors before me, I believe I have captured in my mind what it means to be truly alive.

I believe it is the stories and the dancing and the singing and the smiles and all the little moments we have so much of but do not think are important.
These little momentous moments are what make us human.
The little pieces of others we collect that harm and heal us.

I believe being truly alive is what makes us human.