By Abigail Stanton
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I’d rather wholeheartedly feel the
entirety of the human condition’s pain and burden if it means keeping my
gratitude intact. Granted, half pain and half burden would require less
suffering, but I’ll take the risk of stepping towards all there is to feeling
than love live half heartedly. Sure, camping on the outskirts of a dream
protects from the shrapnel of disappointment, sure, but why settle for comfort?
With wonder as my weapon, I’ll step into a puddle and thank the sky for rain
and my boots for keeping me dry instead of cursing the poor thing for an
existence it cannot help. Half empty by choice, you stifle awe’s invitation.
What a shame to boast only half a heart.
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