So you stood at my doorstep.
And after soon three decades, there was closeness and a touchable, heartwarming opening.
We actually found a way to communicate, and you see how perspectives work and take in, and let live, and consider it a different truth. And after so many years of wanting to, of searching affiliation and mostly that hurtful emptiness between us, the big question mark, the unanswered yearnings of going a path together, there was a step we took together. Like it was easy. Like nothing has ever happened or been rejected. Like we never missed out.
Surprise, that we felt the same. Surprise, you saw and heard and encouraged me on what seems so difficult.
No surprise, you won’t let it get you, still.
Most relieved and gratified and lovable it made me feel. You standing behind me. The picture I’ve always wanted to be entitled to keep.
But to be the mirror?
In terms of advise, I’d join. In terms of predictability, I am just scared.
This caution, will I ever drop it? Push the cart and see where it runs to. Moving, moulding, taking part.
Will I reflect adequately?
It’s not our fault you gave up on yourself. It’s not our fault, you’re never happy. It’s never my fault, you didn’t stand up for yourself, that you play needless, yet you’ve never been. Scared to draw the curtain, then lift it, how will I ever learn to walk my wishes? It’s not our fault you’re another generation. We’ve learned to maintain health. We’ve learned to be reflective. We’d wish you let us in.
I know looking means fear to you, like so many other things do in your life. The longer you’ve concealed, the scarier.
I’d wish you let us touch you, though.