to humans.

We Cling.  Humans Cling.

We cling to music—

The changing notes, the poetic lyrics, the connections they bring. 

We cling to poems, quotes, writing—

We cling to the inspiration and the desperation, we cling to the raw emotions the author hides between, behind, and around their words. 

We cling to art and nature—to light and sunsets. 

We cling to vivid colors, the reds, the blues, the pure brightness of light. 

We cling to the beauty, the story our eyes piece together. 

We cling to the air that crawls across our skin—

the sounds that embedded themselves into our brains and became memories—

the tastes that finds our lips and leave us wanting more. 

We cling to the unknown—

The stars, the wishes we tie into the sky, the universe

The long nights when we trust the stars with our secrets. 

We cling to the memories—

the laughter that hurts our stomachs, the leaking, salty drops of sadness that poke at the back of our eyes and eventually find their path to our cheeks, the spontaneous adventures that continually feed our souls. 

We cling because we desperately do not want to be alone. 

Our souls crave company, they crave love, they crave understanding, they crave a bond with other souls.

We cling. 

We yearn to know if our mind is slowly wasting away and falling apart.

We want to know we aren’t going crazy.

We wish we had answers, we wish we knew how the synapses in our brains worked, we wish we could explain what makes each of us different.

We cling and hope and pray that someone else out there know exactly how we’re feeling.   We cling onto any little bit of emotion we can find in hopes that one day we will find the words to express the bulging pile of thoughts that cling to us.

We cling because we long for someone to explain the things we can’t.

We cling. Humans cling.