And I refuse —
I absolutely refuse —
to let the past
be the thing that takes this.
It doesn't get that too.
Because I have felt love.
Not the fading kind,
not the feather in the stream —
the real kind.
The kind that makes the whole world larger.
The kind that cracks you open
in the middle of an ordinary day
and leaves you standing there
undone and grateful.
My heart is wild.
My bones are steel.
And I am done
laying in the dark
waiting for the day.
I am racing out
on the desert plains
at night —
full tilt,
heart first,
into the open —
because the only thing worse
than being broken again
is never again feeling
what it is
to be that alive.