Alive.

You live.

In corny jokes.
In wrinkled eyes.
In the color yellow.
In horses.
In the smell of hay and leather.
In your old t-shirts.
In the mountains.
In the house on Kennedy Drive.
In freckled lips.
In bass players, in singers, in pianos.
In gospel.
In southern accents and "Yes Ma'ams" and "No Sirs."
In love.

The important part is that

You Live.


With me, in me, and all around me.
Thank you for surviving in every sense you could.