The time will come
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.
The last few weeks were spent with friends. Good friends, the kind that you share laughters with. I love them, and they love me too. The strangeness, of being with friends again, that seems to be leading me back to myself. The strangeness of slowly realising, though I have known it for a while, that I had been choosing not to participate in my own life.