I think I will return to living
for all the photos of me
that haven’t yet been taken.
For every kiss that I have been promised, 
and the jokes I still have not told.

I’d like to be around to wear in the souls
Of my Doc Martin boots,
to feel the sweet sorrow of one more heartbreak. 
There are so many more shower time concerts
 drives to the sea, 
and days lying topless in the sun.

That feeling of not quite living
is warded off by Wes Anderson movies 
and coffee,
cracking my knuckles, ankle length dresses and orgasms.
Small acts on small days,
that feel good enough to want to stay.

So, 
I will live for chipped nail varnish and brown eyes,
how washing my hair in the morning feels
or the wonderful sense of being seen, 
whenever anyone calls me by my name.

Oh, how I intend to carry on,
for living room dance parties and riverside bonfires.
All of the cigarettes there are left to smoke,
and hands there are still to hold,
for stargazing and music with the volume on full.

The bad days I can endure
if just to smell freshly lit incense one more time
and once again after that.
Being here is worth it for every tiny, beautiful thing.

I think it’s time, to step back from the brink