Reality

I can hold the building blocks for so many things right in my hands. Cradle a small bird, or large puppy close to my heart and there are feathers and bones, beaks, and hair. Wet tongues and sharp claws, muscle and drool, all exist to tell me this beautiful creature is real.

So many things in life are like this that there are those who deny the existence of anything that is not. They say my heart beats because it must pump the blood to the rest of my body. My mind works because tiny bits of electricity pulse between its neurons. Everything else is imagination.

I know differently. Imagination is as real as bones and blood.

I feel the thoughts that live in this head of mine just as surely as I feel a puppy’s quivering excitement. My heart constricts with the love that flows through me just as surely as it provides the pulse that shows in my neck.

I do not have to hold someone in my arms to know that love is real and I do not have to have a machine to measure it to know that it reaches out everywhere my thoughts flow.