Alive

We live.

We die.

But how do we feel alive?

We walk.

We breathe.

But do we really believe,

That living,

Means being alive?

Because I am still waiting,

For my soul to arrive.

We laugh.

We cry.

As each day, passes by.

We listen,

And we feel,

But how do I know,

That this is real?

I just want to see,

With my own two eyes,

If living really means, Being alive.