When I was young, I truly knew what it was to love. To swim
dreamily in and out of childish fantasies, bathed in the golden
rays of an eternal sun. I loved it all. The searing heat of summers
that begged to never end and the cold frost of winter that clawed
through to my soul. I loved it all. I loved each person I met in differing
degrees, some I loved for a day, some for an eternity.
I loved to talk. To strangers, to people I had known my entire life,
to people I would never see again. I would never know their name.
I loved to sing as I walked, skipped, ran and jumped. To sing so
loud people would stop and stare. I didn’t care.
I loved to stay awake all night, to watch as the moon ruled the
skies, her light showing us the dying stars. Then to sit, body humming
as the sun reached up and yawned into a fresh new day. Her
yellow arms reaching through into the deep depths of a blue sky.
I loved it all. I loved to wake I loved to sleep. I loved to explore
new corners of my battered, broken home town. I saw beauty
in each step I took, I saw beauty in each hand I shook. I loved
it all. I love it all. I love all that I touch. All that I see. Perhaps
for a second, perhaps, for eternity.
Karen Hayward. (c) 2015.