The water running out
of the faucet cannot be grasped.
The air embraces you but you
cannot embrace it in return.
A light beam’s journey
can be obstructed by
your hand, creating shadows
but you cannot take it with you.
Sitting on the floor, legs crossed
over each other, and my hand on my phone
taking the whole world in
and everything goes through me
as if I am not really there.
You can only feel love or show it.
Like water, it needs a vessel
before you can drink it; like air,
it embraces you and not the other
way around; like light, it takes a journey
and it can get lost or hindered
but never taken away.
This is how I learn to be useful.