The Onlys

It's funny how large we make things.

From molehills to mountains,

Indifference to anger,

And minutes to hours.

Each passing moment grows--

Taller, longer, bigger, greater.

There exists no subtleties.

There exists no small second.

Would the world be different,

If everything were as it should be?

Small, silent, and still.

If the mountains were in fact small hills.

Would people treat you differently,

If they saw you for what you are?

Quiet, indifferent, and scared.

If your smile wasn't a grin?

Would we savor those small moments,

A sunrise of only yellow,

Or the wind only touching our skin?

Would we treasure all of the onlys,

Even if they weren't big? 

Here is a perspective that I thought would be worth sharing. I am trying to adopt this as a way of looking at things. Must everything be so grand for us to enjoy it? I would prefer the opposite, to be able to enjoy the small things, for the subtle moments are what make up our lives. I think they're worth paying attention to.