Amidst all, I’d still Prefer feeling.

How does it feel? No, really. How does it *feel*? All of it.
How do you explain colors to someone who is blind?
You describe.
You describe the feeling they give you.

Every once in a while, I call your name
to  make me believe, it’s real.

You are real.   

And now, mostly, I call your name
while breathing,
to believe in my existence.

Add in emotions, before or after something
They make things *feel* beautiful.

There are so many kinds of feelings,
Some rekindling faith,
others choking it.
Feelings that light up in the shadow of absences
are the real types

Warmth that ignites hope is the real kind. 

Feelings that build a fire, a song, a whistle to create in empty corridors
Are the real kinds.

And of course, of all the feelings that exist
The kind that makes the glass hallway shake
is my absolute favourite.

Like the old childhood days, the home I made in pencil
And the home mother makes everyday by the art of breathing.

That *kind* of feeling.

Because above everything, I will always prefer breathing.