Oh How We Move

What it means to have a life worth living, to feel it beating in your chest, to hear the groan and heave of the creative force, like a body of water moving and breathing under dense shelves of ice.

You can build all of the layers, the bullet proofing and masks and small talk.
You can smile and nod or keep to yourself.
You can sit alone on an old wooden bench.
You can hold your hands in front of your face as if to block the sun from your eyes. It doesn’t make a lick of difference.

Below the ice, a world persists. A beautiful and unstoppable world. A world that moves and lives. How it moves.

Oh how we move—
How we move on—