Crucial

I was told once that I was missing something, something important,

something crucial to being human.

Something that is essential to our identities.

Something essential to us.

To me.

As with most such things, neither of us was aware of how right they may have been,

simple words spoken from a broken heart to a bipedal void.

A breath of air, thick with emotion.

Thick with confusion.

With blame.

I wonder what they think of it now, years on. How they feel about the whole stupid

yet somehow world-shaping situation.

Do they smile, maybe laugh? Weep, maybe cry?

Perhaps they don’t think of it.

Don’t think.

Once upon a time, I asked a dying man what it was to live as a human,

how to spend my life, what he thought most valuable in this world.

He gave me stories. He gave me laughter. He gave me tears.

He gave me two words.

Bleed love.

I see it now. Everywhere I look, every person I see or hear, every baby,

every child, teen or elder, every parent, has it.

A hole. A gash in their identity, a leak. A wound.

Bleeding love.

Drip, drip.