Lessons.

Every morning, I pass Death while on my way to living Wakefulness.

Every morning, She asks me what I’ve learned.

One morning, I told Her I’ve learned to love.

The next morning, I told Her I’ve learned to fly.

Another morning, I told Her I’ve learned to dream.

Very many mornings after, I told Death that I’ve learned to fall.

Mornings after that, I couldn’t tell her what I’d learned at all.

Instead, I begged to stay — wishing behind closed eyes. Hoping to avoid the lessons the world owed me.

I chased Her, I grasped Her by the hand.

Death embraced me,

then denied me,

Then asked me once more what I had learned.

I am still learning.