I once said I was on cloud nine, but who's counting anyways? I would, but, you see, i have too many things to tell you at once, more than I can count on one or two or six thousand hands- even still the sun is doing a pretty good job of saying the words that they haven't made up for you yet. In my mind, the world would be happier if they stopped looking for heaven in the sky because the universe that exists where my fingertips stop and your skin starts is not clothed in all white and there are no pearly gates, but in the small fraction of the moment, nobody is dying. In some way, something taught us to tilt back our heads and stare at the starry expansion of the universe above us as though we were looking for the answers to everything we've been afraid to ask. If there was a scripture to make the veins under your skin sing praises a little louder, than i would write and rewrite the bible until my hands bled-