I know you’re tired.

Hey,

I know you’re tired,
frustrated, impatient
and honestly,
lost.

I know that some days
are battles and others
are blurs.

I know that
whenever there’s goodness,
you’re holding your breath
for that other shoe to drop.
And it might.

But I also know that
you were woven
with the small stuff.
The tiny, wonderful quirks and habits,
bits of knowledge and obsession,
dusts of old things, glimmers of new things.
They’re your knobs and ridges.

I know that a tree wasn’t born knowing
that its branches could burn fire,
bright and fierce,
that sand never guessed
it could pad ocean floors
or form pebbles then rocks
then mountains and canyons.

I know that there is
so much more glory
in someone unlikely,
ordinary, overlooked.
And their journey,
from ember to flame,
seed to forest,
what a story.

A hero,
victorious,
named.

You and I
are stories,
written.
Our epics,
read by time.
Your time
is now
and
is coming.

And I,
in this moment,
am so delighted.

That we are doing this.

We are living.
We are enough,
for this moment,
this now.

We are heroes,
hand in hand.
Arriving,
loud.