Typewriter Series #884 by Tyler Knott Gregson
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Text for Tired Eyes:
Take care of yourself. It’s up to you to keep your heart
beating and your lungs filling and your legs running long
past when you should have found your way to shuffling off
this mortal coil and starting fresh. Greet Death running
and jumping and dancing with her, throwing kisses like promises
while she waits to carry you away. Don’t make her bend or scoop
or hoist or strain her delicate hands under the weight of your
tired soul. Meet her with a smile that only old age can create.
Love. Promise me that you will love. It will shake your skin
and rattle your bones and the sheer volume of butterflies inside
will threaten to lift your stomach to your throat. Love. Don’t
think of the why or the how of the what if and just love. When you
think, if only for a moment, that you’re loving enough, you aren’t.
Love until your eyes are cried dry and your arms shake from
squeezing so tight. Love because you cannot not love and
because it finishes all of the pieces in you that would otherwise
stay that way. Love because it’s the answer to the question
you’ll start asking one day. It’s the answer to all the questions
you’ll ever ask and the reason you are here, wherever here may be.