What makes a miracle? What ignites our primitive minds with the spark of inspiration, and lends our crude hands, the finesse of creation? What is this sorcery that makes wonders out of bricks and stone, epics out of ink and paper, and Gods out of mortal men?
Einstein once said that there are only two ways to live your life – One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is. I always thought it to be true. But try as I might, I can’t deceive myself into seeing the miracle in me. I am blind, to the myriad of infinite possibilities every moment can be. I am unconscious, of life and death, hope and faith, destiny and fate, of independence and inevitability.
But with you, I live and die a million lives, and am reborn, from ashes and dust. With you, my tears can drown continents, and my faith can part seas. For you make me believe. For you enslave me, and set me free; you devastate me, you immortalize me. You make me hope, and dream, and want, and desire. For your every smile sets me alight, your touch renders me alive. With you, I always lose, and yet never face defeat. With you, my love knows no bounds, and no fear, and no shame. With you, it can conquer worlds, and build marvels out of thin air. With you, I can create fires out of every thought, and write destinies in every word. With you, life is all the miracle I’ll ever need. For my miracle, is you....
