the mundane

a poem on a modern mundane milieu and our mortality

You might turn 40 and still wonder if it was all a lie
Was the timing just off? Was I just a void? 

You might run into her one day and won’t even know it.

Ha! Boring.

You might die from all the stress sitting in your chest

or from the overthinking.

You might fall in love again, or maybe never try again.

You might endure a family loss,

you might not ever recover from that loss.

You might join a gym. Take on a new hobby.

You might lead a class. Run 5 miles everyday.

You might move across the ocean and find a simpler life.

You might finish school, get a Master of Fine Arts.

You might read 10 books in one year.

You might not ever forget to put your frownies on at night,

wake up at 4am, eat your protein, take your vitamins.

You might put your daughter through college and some.

You might break your own heart.

You might even floss everyday. Brush every night.

You might not ever drink soda. Only water. 

All the things to be said,

You are dust and to dust you shall return.

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I am writing you love letters from Hilo.
I pray you read this with hope and love. With joy and expectation— knowing Jesus loves you but more importantly He needs you to grow up— in your word reading, praying, believing, hoping, looking for His return.

All my love,
G.