I died peacefully in my sleep last night.
The day before, I was struck and killed by a drunk driver.
Leukemia extinguished the life in my eight year-old self-
and that’s not to mention all the times
I’ve had the chance to do it myself.

Every day, every hour, every second,
I am dying in some parallel reality.
Less fortunate versions of myself
interminably fulfill the infinite array
of directions in which my life can end.

But this morning I woke up.
I went for a run,
let the dog out,
ate a quick bite,
and I am here,
writing to you.

So many possibilities,
so many chances,
and so many near-misses,
all leading to the miraculous
daily acknowledgement that
I am the one who gets to live,
the one who gets to feel.
I am the one who persists.