A Life Worth Living

I choose a life lived in: unmade beds, my nose unknowingly dusted with flour after an afternoon of baking, a pile of travelled and muddy shoes at the front door, blankets loved into oblivion, paint stained jeans, cracked tea cups, well-worn sofas, spontaneous thoughts written on the back of my hand, old Bonne Maman jam jars used as drinking glasses, saved feathers and flowers pressed between pages, breakfast for dinner, small angel statues hidden in the garden, holes in favorite socks, my dad’s old flannels, freckles from too many days spent daydreaming by the creek, candles gracefully adorned with dripping wax, a dog who hogs more than half the bed, books on tabletops, underlined and beloved passages, crooked picture frames, mistakes made and lessons learned, crow’s feet that beckon countless nights of laughter, bright eyes that speak with ease of all they have seen, love that makes the possibility of falling worth the descent. I choose a life that is perfect in its imperfection.