Hoping for Life

There’s this part of my body that remembers

how good it feels to run out and meet the day.

Part of me that remembers

how you can’t waste time because it’s fleeting

and there’s just so much to do.

There’s the young, innocent part of me

that wants to wake up at 6 am to play Nintendo

and watch cartoons and go to the playground

and swim in lakes and jump on trampolines

and ride bikes and play pretend

and eat s’mores and sit around campfires and sing.

And talk.

But now my voice is all locked up.

I remember, sometimes, what it means to live.

I really hope I will do it again.

Or maybe I still need to play like a kid.

Maybe none of us are supposed to grow up.

/

I hope, one day,

I will not rely on other people to fill the void

that appears when I feel lost.

I hope, one day,

I will be able to broach the quiet

and fill a room with happy noise.

I hope I will care more, one day,

about what everyone has to say

and encourage and encourage and encourage.

I hope I will not notice the sound of my voice so much

that I choose to bite my tongue.

I hope I will be enough and other people will be enough

and we will need each other but not too much.

I hope I will put the phone down and put the screens away

and want to be in nature and want to be with my thoughts

and want to run toward things and never need to stop.

I hope the bottom of my stomach stops trying to drop away.

I hope I want life someday.