Alive

Maybe it's unstoppable. 

Maybe it's inevitable. 

Growing old and dying youthful.

Changing the colors in our eyes to fit the shade of grey.

What is being alive?

Is it the constant inhaling and exhaling of rhythmic breaths?

Is it the crippling bars of a keyboard?

Is it the mountains we climb to get to the greener grass?
As we grow older we slowly fade away into the monotonous shades of grey of the society we helped build.
The different formats of love and hate become the air we breathe.
I do not want to live in vain.
I want to chase my dreams that try to float away on a string.
Am I alive?
I have feelings I do not fully understand.
I have hormones and chromosomes.
I have a beating heart and a throbbing pulse.
Thick blood bubbles to the surface when my skin parts ways.
Am I alive?
My mind collects words and phrases like a spider's web.
I can feel sand between my toes.
I can taste the rustic blood on my tongue.
I can smile and laugh freely.
Is that being alive?
I want to grow old. I want to see the world through wrinkled eyes.
I want to feel alive.