Because I can blink.

The days are fuller and emptier. The days could be anything.
I wake up and march toward another day.

These days are okay. They could be anything,
but they are unfurling coils; they are unraveled ribbons.

Each day is a chance to grasp at the multi-colored strands,
each day is a chance to make something.

To be something. And by this, I mean gentle. I mean forgiveness.

These days are beautiful because my limbs carry me to and fro,
because my lungs pull in air and let it out again, because I can blink.

Because today I can reach out, because I am filled with love,
because I choose to believe in it.

Because, because.

Because these days are everything.