On this day

I love riding a bike for the first time in many years, and being a subdued part of a convoy of cycling hooligans, (showing off in the most endearing way), gliding down Brunswick Street at midnight with no hands. I love standing in a static conversation when all of a sudden, the lead singer of one of my favourite bands asks us for a cigarette. I love tearing down the highway with the windows down with my friend and bandmate by my side, singing along to our very own songs as they blast through my speakers. I love cooking gingerbread with my little cousins, sneaking dough into each other's mouths and giggling. 

I love everything, like I loved the stars on the day the world was supposed to end. I love them still - and wonder if we are as beautiful to them, as they are to me. 

This year I have learnt how fragile we are, how very breakable the human mind and body is. I felt everything, as always, every part of the spectrum - I felt it in my bones and in my blood. I learnt that hopelessness is everyone's enemy. But perhaps the most important thing I have learnt is to value that little pulse in not only your own chest, but in all your loved ones' as well. The little rhythm, the only thing keeping them breathing and living and loving in your arms.