thirteen

to you, from me.
to you,
thank you.
and to those little dear things that have made life real,
thank you.
to the friends and the letters and the laughs and the talks long and little,
thank you.
to the nights, oh those blessed nights, spent in tears on the phone or alone
-always in my room or in the woods around me,
thank you.
and to the people I could hold in my arms forever
and love
and love
and love,
thank you.
to the Greatest Maker and the Sun both solar and heavenly and to the Ghost that haunts my heart and makes me new,
thank you.
a small thank you from my mouth, from my mind through this arm and onto this page.
for the writing of it is to whisper it.
thank you.
I hope to live that.
for the living of it is to shout it from the mountain, sing it in the valley, and burst into tears because only these little oceans can serve as the lenses into the darkest deeps of my heart.
thank you for saving me.
gratitude is pumped through my veins.
my eyes see with it, my lungs breath it in and out.
to you, thank you is all I can whisper, write, and live.
I was once a rickety railing on a shaking, quaking bridge
-protecting no one and nearly crashing into the river myself.
to those things and the Thing that saved me,
thank you.
from me.