Maturity

If I had met my love ten years ago we would not have seen each other.

Ten years ago, even five years ago, my insecurities held the throne of my identity.

Looking back, it is like I had this impenetrable fog around me. People could see me, blurred through my own self sight of inadequacy. But I was more mirage than real.

It took a complete undoing, a descent into the deepest corners of my being, a breaking down, a form of identity composting, for me to speak to this fog of insecurity and call enough.

To cast the places that seized me as important into that compost. Petty worries and ridiculous anxieties. To watch the worms of despair feed, and the soil of my being be reshaped into fertile ground. 

Not just to allow my love and I to see each other, but first to allow me to see me and love all…the bumpy, feisty, imperfect me, in a crazy beautiful world.

To throw to the wind the care of things so irrelevant to what matters most.

My face and body wear the mark of inhabiting our planet for decades. I wear them proudly.

Nothing compares to mature love. Of self. Of others. Of being loved. Of loving.

My heart sings in gratitude. 

Photo taken April 28th, 2020

 

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