Every living being must be aware of its impending demise.
Or is it just me, —seeing the dead end before we
even get the chance to die?
Lie. Say "I do," see us grow old together to gather that which we will put asunder. I ponder.

A poem comes to me, she said: This world is fragile. It can crumble so easily, but baby, don’t be afraid to take your tongue out and taste it.
All of it: the good, the bad, the limitless hope.

This life will hit you, hard—in the face. Then wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting that wind knocked out of you will remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

She is good with words.
Yes—there is hurt, here.
That cant be healed by poetry.
But there is also joy, laughter, and a pinch of happiness.
Unforgetting dreams beyond the ages.
Because these, — Yes, these are the days of our lives.
Where every living being is aware of its impending demise.