a life worth living

In the quiet before dawn, —
I've measured life in coffee spoons,
tasted the bitter grounds of existence,
and found it wanting.

A life worth living?
It's a canvas—
stretched, primed, and waiting
for the first reckless stroke of color.

It's not the grand tapestry of stars
that whispers significance,
but the warmth of the sun
as it kisses the cheek,
the laughter that dances
in the eyes of a friend,
the silent understanding shared
in a single, lingering glance.

A life worth living moves—
it's the rush of the river,
the climb of the vine,
the relentless pursuit
of the horizon.

Feel the grass beneath your feet,
the wind as it plays with your hair,
the heartbeat of the earth
syncing with your own.

A life worth living is rich—
with the metaphors we breathe,
the subtle puns of nature,
the grand allegory of the cosmos
unfolding in the palm of your hand.

It's the art of conversation,
the poetry in motion,
the symphony of shared silence.

So let us live, not just exist,
in the spaces between words,
in the pause before the kiss,
in the breath before the leap.

For in the end,
a life worth living is but—
a collection of moments,
a mosaic of sensations,
a symphony of experiences,
a poem written in the ink
of our very souls.