Everybody Has A Story To Tell

And, if I should never smile again,

I will spend the rest of my seconds

helping others to find theirs.

Through slices of cake,

or gifts, or space.

Or, if they do not smile at first

perhaps I could let them think.

My words may make sense

of this thing that they are feeling.

You know, I try to give everything meaning.

Though my soul remains heavy,

my soles could take me

to corners of the world

and the sea.

A story of a lifeless body

floating through the stream of Italy.

Or up the hills of Scotland.

Or in French cups of coffee.

Home is so far away.

It may be a while until I return.

So, until that moment

I will be a good person.

Whatever that may be.

A good daughter, sister

and, perhaps, mother.

Everybody has a story to tell.

I will tell theirs.

I will tell my own.

I have some things to do

before I come home.