with all the people in the world, talking, touching, going, thinking, realizing, grieving,
with all the unseen troubles that sit deep in the eyes of those around us, but the world is too uncaring to ask "how are you?" in a sincere and concerned way,
with all the firsts and sometimes the lasts accompanying the millions that tread this earth as they kiss a new crush, or touch the wrinkled hand of their life-long best friend,
i want to be all of them, i want the connection with those who have stones as hearts and desert eyes. too sandy and rough to cry anymore,
i want to reach across and go to the dentist with the frightened boy or be in a hand to steady the writing of an apology, or find in some lost small space the spark that started this country.
i want to be the crinkle in a passing smile and the brave feet of the determined man as he walks towards his last time.
i wish i could have been a feeling of comfort in the broken hands and feet and side.
i wish i could have been the rushing of peace as the ghost floated up.
i wish i could have been the feeling of surety that all He did was not in vain.
but here i am, an all consuming soul contained in a small girl. and i sit, wanting and thinking of all that i could be, all i could do if not restricted by mortality.
and i wonder and wish that as i sit here, wanting to be the freckles in your eyes and the opening of your mouth, that you perhaps sit like i am and think the same thing.
that your heart perhaps skips the same beat as mine does.
as you perhaps remember as i am now and freeze in your place in the world, taken up by the force of the memory of us.