I have lived
but 9,675,861 minutes
on a speck of dust
lost in a great insignificance.
Everything I have ever known,
the grand total of hearts I have broken
and victories I have placed on pedestals
exist on the same microscopic sphere.
Every earth-shattering love I have ever felt
has only ever existed on the same
finite, negligible atom–
how foolish it is to believe
we mean anything at all.
But I am 9,675,861 minutes old.
Everything I adore
exists on this pale blue dot, this fading dream.
This world, a slice of time and space,
holds everything I have ever loved–
a home for laughter and heartache,
poetry and rain and the voice of my mother
and all of the mothers who have ever lived.
I cannot help but believe
this is more than a helpless globe of dust.
This is all we have.