One of them convicted me.
It was written by an 87-year-old woman.
A compilation of things she wished she'd done.
- -
"I wish I'd laughed more, complained less.
I was the woman who had a flashlight, umbrella, and screwdriver in my purse.
I wish I'd packed lighter.
I wish that I'd taken more risks.
I wish my troubles were real, not imaginary because of fear."
- -
Finally she'd processed her life, spreading it out and clustering it together.
She had regrets, and unfulfilled wishes.
Her highest expectations were never her priority.
She'd settled countless times.
Does this happen to all of us?
Is there a preliminary maximum we can't pass?
Only being 19, I have an overwhelming capacity.
I feel as if I'm going to leave something practical for the world to use.
I'm too young to settle, to surrender, to quell, to seal up.
This is a declaration.
I will:
Recycle brilliance.
Enunciate my creativity.
Write more letters.
Request the advice of others.
Live out remarkable stories.
Deluge my mind with knowledge.
Waltz through adversity with euphoria.
Shatter malevolence with unconditional love.
Pursue fidelity as a virtue.
Be imperfectly relatable.
View independence as a misfortune.
Spill passion into their ragged dreams.
Revive our famished hearts with opulent community.
If I don't, then who will?
If you catch my heart, then join me.
