Cups

I've never been a 'glass half full' person.
I've never felt as though everything is going fine
Even when the stitches between my hopes and dreams
Are splitting and unravelling; pulling apart,
And the earth beneath my feet dries and crumbles away.
I never lulled myself into this happy place,
Where I am safe from life; from death.

When the bottom of my glass is dry and
I feel as half empty as anyone ever could,
I do not jump into the abyss - This is my upside -
I go to the beach, and I walk alone,
Taking in the sights and smells of this
Vast, vast place: an eternal circle of stretching sands
That crumbled from the largest mountains,
And the huge expanse of blue both above me and below me,
Rippling and shimmering,
And I take a little seawater, and fill my cup a little.

Then, I go and visit old relatives I haven't seen in a while.
I visit Paris, I see my cousin.
I paint my kitchen, I ring my sister.
I cut my hair, I get a tattoo.
I try Italian food, I climb a mountain.
I go camping, I go on a date.
I learn to sing, I paint my nails.
I see and learn and do the things
I wanted to do, but never did

And bit by bit, my glass fills,
With tears, wine, rain, paint, tea, seawater...
Until it is full,
And it overflows
Into the empty cups of others