A dying man once told me all the secrets to living
He began by telling me a story
The ones we paint on our backs
Sculpted in our skins
This is how we begun the first lesson
No story birthed from a human can be told in one sitting
One night he pointed to the window and said
he would let the city
Sing me a song
Can you hear how the trees brush against each other?
Can you hear how the cars pretend to be ocean waves?
Can you hear the rest of the world sing a song even when you are not in the room?
On his final days
He rest both hands on his stomach
Closes his eyes
Inhales 98 years worth of words
They have never been enough
Once a dying man told me all the secrets to living
not all of them.