people who suffer,
who long to be free

you loved me, a stranger
now what does that mean?

ten minutes a day is all it takes
to make something beautiful, you know?
where is ten? when do we go there?

it doesn't really matter that things don't work sometimes
I could be in a parking lot with nothing but dead plans around me

and yet.
and yet what if.
and yet what if you could go anywhere and do anything just by changing how you see things.

why does anyone expect me to be able to handle this thing inside me?
in time it will become more of a dance, and less of a wrestling match.

thank you to each and every one of you who looked at me with eyes that said "it can be".