To be measured

I don’t want my life to be measured in coffee spoons. I hope it’s measured
by the happiness I have, the fun I experience, and those same feelings and thoughts of inspiration
that I spread around from the tips of my fingers.
I want to be remembered by the way I dance, the way I sway,
the way I pick wild flowers and close my eyes, head titled up and smiling.
Maybe I’ll be remembered by the fact that I drink sludgy black coffee
the way I remember my grandmother
sipping from her white and blue tea cups with grace.

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