PERHAPS

When all turns to soft ice and it is as if I have climbed a dragon's neck between the flames before they've collapsed into smoke and finally we've met eyes. There are moments like these in my life. Or when I've climbed a volcano and now peer into its lashing heartbeat, uninterrupted, the heat rising like the sea at tide. 
It's a quiet valiance of facing giants and just breathing in the stillness of the victory (for certainly moments of this kind are victories and giants). Yet not only in the "valiant" things, but more truly the unforgettable. Immortal moments, when time forgets to move, but also in the littlest of things, like watching the sun catch on the ridge of an autumn leaf barely clinging to its branch or the soft tracing of fingers between your own and that gentle resistance to never let go of that beautiful, familiar hand.
Breathing, breathing, I breathe. We breathe. In those moments, I know that this is life. That this life is beautiful. This is why I breathe. This is what I was created for. For such a time as this. Maybe this doesn't make any sense at all. Maybe I can't explain. Maybe it wasn't meant to be explained. 
I feel that little moments make up who I am. It is as if the memories are my atoms and my blood and they build a rib-cage with heart and lungs beneath, binding together my whole person, like the words on pages that make up a story, but ever expanding, ever reaching further out, because the story doesn't end, not now, not here, not ever, for this raw soul of mine cannot die. 
The moments feel wasted without realizing--while in their midst--that there is something more, something divine held within them, as if they were gifts given from a Higher being, God himself. Perhaps, the gift is the moment, or perhaps the gift is the grace to see from higher ground and a grace to feel with a renewed heart. Perhaps even to feel a depth of pain and suffering is a gift, I don't know how exactly, but perhaps. 
I believe that it is only when the moment is shared (with God or man), that the moment becomes a dragon's gaze, the time becomes soft, the volcano turns to sea, and the clock loses its power: only then is the moment a vein sewn into immortal flesh. 

Maybe this still doesn't make sense at all. I guess I tried. 

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