When we fell when we were young it always ended up okay.
We got to choose which Disney princess we wanted
to shield our wounds from the biting air
as they bled into battle scars
and the story of our heroism was known throughout the playground.
Our ordinary arms were gilded
by glorious casts that paraded our popularity
abundant in autographs of all our admirers.
But when we lose interest in princesses
and our egos overpower our ability to sympathize
we find it's harder to see the better side of life.
We have responsibilities and we need to be
all the things he wants us to be
all the things she wants us to be
and we don't know who we want to be.
But we know when we fall down we don't want to seem weak.
We don’t want to seem needy.
But we don’t want to be alone.
Here’s the thing:
We’re not alone at all.
It’s amazing how,
when we allow ourselves to really fall, fall deep enough,
we find a whole population underground.
All the people we thought we knew,
all the people we thought were floating on air,
they’re all capable of feeling just as low.
And they can help us see the beauty
in something as simple as breathing.
And all of us who breathe beautifully end up on the other side.
We rise and fall just like our diaphragms
with each inhalation and exhalation
and it’s beautiful.
That’s why all those eighty-year-old ladies have sparkles in their tired eyes.
The wrinkles in the corners are stretched out from smiling
From watching us pick out princess band-aids
To lowering some of us into the grave.
But their glow never fades
because they know we’ll be okay.
And they know we'll know someday.