when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Always been one of my favorite poems. I'd quit being discreet, and tell you this is what I'm experiencing now. In the past three months, I've become more aware of myself. I'm seeing things a whole lot more clearly. I won't lie. There are things I wish I could share with some people I care about, but I realize: if it is not about me, why bother? By letting things go, I got myself back. I'm writing again, I feel excited by the thought of accomplishing things for myself and myself, only. ;)
Or like Valerie once said, it's called quarter-life crisis.
Perhaps so, and goodness, I'm still just as flawed as YOU are... but if anything, I'd never underestimate myself or give you the privilege to do so.
Hell yeah, girl got it together. ;)
Oh by the way...
Or like Valerie once said, it's called quarter-life crisis.
Perhaps so, and goodness, I'm still just as flawed as YOU are... but if anything, I'd never underestimate myself or give you the privilege to do so.
Hell yeah, girl got it together. ;)
Oh by the way...
Hello, my November!
