There's still fight in me yet

When your scars have finally disappeared

And you start to somewhat resemble yourself again

Once you've picked up the shards of your dignity

And held it up to the light, weighed it in the palm of your hand and said This'll do

What's left of you? When you've survived the Big Thing that split you in two

I know you curled up in agony, I know it squeezed you empty 

But here you are, an outlier of sorts

Spread out on the floor 

With a curious kind of grace. 

When you've gathered yourself again, from where you fled

What's left to do? 

Well...you get to choose. 

Which sweater will I wear today, white or blue? 

You get to care what you wear again. 

You climb on the roof and admire the view. 

You look up again. Not to know where you're going but to see where you are. 

It baffles you how many sunsets you've taken for granted. 

You enjoy these simple pleasures. 

You give up your search for the great treasure of ancient legend.

Instead you collect it in small measures

The feel of a shiny new coin between your fingers. Flowers on the brink of bloom.

The kindness of a friend.

You allow yourself to dream again. 

You want, with furious longing. 

Sure, you can't claim that you live fiercely.

That you tip your head and drink the coolade. 

But you live just the same, 

Sipping slowly doesn't alter the taste.

Listen. You can't help that your heart beats or your lungs breathe, that your body heals itself sinew by sinew.

Life chose you. 

And this is you, choosing life back. 

Now here's the catch:

Finding yourself is not the end, 

Yours has just begun.

There are more victories to taste 

and mountains to climb,

there is beauty to be found in unexpected places, love in expectant faces. 

Songs to be sung and moments of regret. 

Run along now, you little fiend

There's still fight in you yet.