Just think of all those hours where
You weren’t ill, weren’t lost or heartbroken
Weren’t unhappy, weren’t distressed
Nor tortured with words, spoken or unspoken
When you were going about your business as usual.
Distractedly, maybe, bored, barely awake,
But not in pain, unhappy, feeling desperate
Or wracked with self-doubt, or shattered by heartbreak,
Or broken by yet another rejection.
Those are the hours your life is measured by,
They are the sum and totality of you.
The mundane is where we live and die
It is where drama, pain, trauma and love find us.
Sought out by their remorseless light
It is where we ready ourselves for them.
Use these hours wisely. They are not finite