Mark and Quill it’s strange, isn’t it, this constant yearning to make what we do count. Sometimes I think that’s the only proof we need that we’re alive: the wanting itself. The pull to matter. Maybe meaning isn’t something we find, but something we create each time we reach, build, write, love, or even simply endure. If we act as though life matters, then it does. Every small motion becomes a declaration—we were here, and we made something of it. Your poem was like a little meditation to me bringing all these things to the forefront again.
I feel the quiet desperation and wonder why I keep going on with it all. Is there a choice to just stop? It never seems like the right time. Only you can decide if you are ready to risk it…
Mark and Quill it’s strange, isn’t it, this constant yearning to make what we do count. Sometimes I think that’s the only proof we need that we’re alive: the wanting itself. The pull to matter. Maybe meaning isn’t something we find, but something we create each time we reach, build, write, love, or even simply endure. If we act as though life matters, then it does. Every small motion becomes a declaration—we were here, and we made something of it. Your poem was like a little meditation to me bringing all these things to the forefront again.
I feel every ache that was mentioned. Absolutely beautiful work.
Thank you so much 😊
I feel the quiet desperation and wonder why I keep going on with it all. Is there a choice to just stop? It never seems like the right time. Only you can decide if you are ready to risk it…
This is beautiful. I’ve been feeling quite “achy” myself. This helped 🤍
I’m glad it did sweetie!!