wondrously alive

The air had that smell and feeling that is only present in those precious hours before noon – crisp and clear and refreshing rolled up all together in an intoxicating scent. I pushed myself harder. My lungs ached from breathing in the cool air, my legs burned, and I was gasping for breath. The birds continued to twitter, oblivious to my self-inflicted distress. Ricocheting through my body, my heart beat as if a drum, the blood pulsing fast through my veins. I didn't mind the pain so much, though – it meant that I was alive, gloriously, wondrously alive.

I'm a normal, living, breathing human being. I cry more than I'd care to admit. I get frustrated, overwhelmed, angry...and the tears come, slipping down my cheeks, salty and rapid. It's okay to cry sometimes, though. It doesn't mean you're weak – it's always been a sign that you're alive. Wondrously, gloriously alive.