To the Self.
It might be a good time to write, I thought, but never really imagined I'd get to do it so quickly. The keyboard was right in front of me and suddenly the screen was full of strangely familiar characters that welcomed me home as if I had never left. It's been a while, my dearest love, yet here you are in all your tenderness and fury, ready to tuck me in as the child I become sometimes. Thank you amor, for such selfless love, you're a waterfall of compassion and patience, understanding and more. Where would I be without you, I wonder often, but not often enough to remember that, even in the darkest of times, after years of drought, you are still blooming somewhere in the sand storm, and I just need to plant myself on the ground to find you again, and you'll be there, as always, with all your love, ready to take me in and nurture the neglected garden I can be. Today I decided to go against my mind once more, this t...