In the average life, they say…
There are two and a half billion heartbeats —
give or take.
Each one, a quiet drum
tapping out the measure of my days.
Each one, a whisper,
saying: Here. Still here.
I don’t want to spend them all
in queues and traffic,
chasing things that never slow down
to love me back.
I want to spend them
with my children’s laughter in the room,
with my love asleep beside me,
with the kettle singing,
and the window glowing gold
because the sun has remembered me again.
Let my heart race
when I climb a hill to see the world laid bare.
Let it thunder
when I say something brave —
and mean it.
Let it pause, soft,
when the moon is low and full,
and everything — just for a moment —
feels as though it’s enough.
Let it slow
when I hold her close,
and the silence says more than prayer.
I don’t want more time.
I want to spend what I’ve been given —
well.
To invest my beats
in beauty.
In kindness.
In wonder.
To count my life
not in years,
but in the moments that made me feel
fully alive.
And when the final one comes —
let it find me at peace.
With nothing hoarded.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing left unsaid.
Only this:
That I was here.
And I gave
every beat
to love.