"For we are all so mortal that we hardly live."
-Czesław Miłosz

[i'm a second chance person in a one-shot world]

someday we will be finished with everything that is required of us and all we will have left to do will be to explore hidden lakes and pick bouquets of wildflowers and climb trees and catch frogs and make shapes of the clouds. and we will lie on the meadow in the valley of the mountains, you with your old typewriter and me with my paintbrushes and we will make something of our lives. and i will chase those pages that the wind tries to take for itself and catch your words and maybe some butterflies too. and i will bring you skirtfuls of wild berries still warm from the sun. our music will be birdsong and crickets, the gentle rhythm of falling leaves. we will know clean air and deep silence and the curve of the mountain slopes and the songs of howling wolves. it will be our second chance, and we will finally know what it means to be immortal and be free.