run not to escape but to keep going to tick as it is in this life of one life my task this is all.
this is everything.
why then must my head be so full of things? I make it this way surely and yet what is the me making it precisely? for surely if I make
I can unmake. or never make to begin with. so this is
a story. a little one with not much to tell but to me
it is the purest of poetry. viktor frankl first saw human existence this way and I agree.
I am here. I am here. I am here.
I exist. This much I am sure of when my eyes open or shut. I feel the grass under my toes and the bark of that tree on my fingertips when I reach out to tell it good morning.
I can see into the eyes looking back at me anywhere and most of the time see
that I am seen.
I am here. I am here. I am here.
There is so much more we can do for each other. We are often too quiet; too unaware.
You are here.