We are but specs of dust on the dying breath of giants walking through the clouds of the illusion of time and the space of dreams
And what are we but insignificant to the great vast empty wind blowing through the cosmos
Except when we dare to wonder and question and perceive our life as more than meaningless
And no matter the size of our feet or the matter within the marrow of our bones
Is it not within the divinity of our blood and the madness of our souls that we have found the profound bewildering act, existence, ability, and song of love
A song in which we feel more than we can hear
an ability to live outside of death and exist outside of time
and act like fools while uncovering the ancient threads of wisdom that reverbrates from star to endless star
And if I am not reminded of beauty every time I see eternity swirling in the magic and cinnamon of your eyes
If I am not swept through both the promise of heaven and the sins of hell when tracing the curves of the mischief of your smile
If I do not become helpless to do anything but coo as a baby would under the radiance of your heart
Then I would be disconnected from all that is
and all that ever was
or will ever be
For in all that you are
All that you ever were
And all that you will ever be
You will always be love
First, last, and always