everyday writing

with an abundance of amazing moments to record,
i find myself writing nothing down.
because while enjoying life in seconds of precision,
i cannot step back and string accurate observations together.
by the time i sit to jot down or type out these elaborate poetic phrases,
the beauty of the words have become puzzle-pieced memories,
a hodgepodge of experience and observation --
that could never, now, be accurately conveyed.

i rationalize that i spend time to live
instead of hiding away to write proof of life.
but in reality, i know, that when my children are grown,
i will long to remember and review,
wanting to remind myself
of the simplicity and innocence of these days,

i will wish that i had taken the time to create
line after line after line
of eloquence and appreciation,
if only to pay homage to the beauty of this existence.

an existence covered in sticky kisses and occasionally held by small, gentle hands.
an existence that is drenched in times of perfection.

maybe too perfect to capture in words, after all.

Comments

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new list

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butterfly. babies. love.

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