It´s tomorrow.
It´s thirty seven, I think.
So many times
I have been here.

It was yesterday also,
and two days ago,
when I told her
give me your number.
It sounded like an order:
it really was a pledge.
And she did,
se gave
herself.

That was celebration
but she could have said no:
I´m not giving you my number.
That would have been celebration too.
Just the asking.

Every moment of courage,
of compassion,
of crazy dancing,
of living poetry revealed
it´s a pretty obvious celebration, isn´t it?

But I wanna be aware.

It may sound a little Disney,
it may sound a little Chopra,
but I wanna be aware
of the living celebration that is breathing
in every single second,
one after the other,
and the other,
and the next.

I just wanna be aware
of the living celebration
that is hiding in the pain,
in the sorrow,
in the boredom,
in the rain.