by Cole McNamara / perilpoet

What if there were a world
where time didn’t drag us toward tomorrow,
where people lived in now, not then,
where anxiety and depression
could never take root,
could never bloom.

Where alarm clocks don’t decide our worth,
where calendars can’t confine us,
where rest is not a guilty pleasure,
and joy is never a deadline.

Where we measure days
in belly laughs and deep breaths,
in hand-holding and soft eye contact,
not in emails answered
or milestones met.

What if?

If you like this piece, you might also enjoy:

• You Are Not Alone — a Hearth poem reminding you that idols, strangers, and your own family are tired too, and you still have more life left in you.
• To: The Star Pretending to Be a Lamp — a Whimsy poem written as an official memo from the Department of Whimsy, reminding you your spark was never lost, only buried under “be practical.”
• Sixth Street Park — a Hearth piece about childhood wonder, quiet magic, and the little rituals that made us who we are.