Isn’t that what we all search for?
The end that justifies the means?
Proof, everything has an answer
We are caught up in the rat race
Blinded by how quickly life can change
Those we love aren’t immortal
Maybe in theory
Not in reality
It takes tragedy to realize
How precious life is
Majority of us our blessed to wake up next our soulmates
Yet, we take it for granted
Because we want the prize
We want the reward
We want the “well-done”
We want the pat on the shoulder
But
Aren’t we blessed being able to wake up each morning?
Shouldn’t loving your partner be fulfilling enough?
What’s wrong with chasing after your dreams?
Why should we wait for death to find peace?
Heaven can be on earth
If we want it to be
About the Creator
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munsona day ago in Fiction
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