lost and found

This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

Let’s live this messy life wild. Where the peaks are high enough to keep us from inhaling too deep. Where catching our breath is the only ride we need, on this carriage of adventure.

Because no matter how we cut it, tomorrow’s never promised. We don’t get to say when or where or how.

We just get now.

Where the messy white blur of life is our only frame to capture. The bokeh behind us of twinkly miracles standing by.

Where planning is just a game because control is an illusion. So let go, let’s go.

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