falling in love again with the subtle details

of this old room, a space I made for me

a place always patiently waiting for my return

the dried flowers and the empty jars

the unfinished artworks, paint brushes old and new

the music instruments, that in time grew out of tune

tiny little bottles of potions, oil blends and magic spells

books gathering dust, both read and unread

piles and piles of notebooks and journals from years and years of me

my giant backpack in its perpetual state of half packed and almost ready

a teacup from must have been the same place i left it two months ago

postcards, messages in bottles from me to me

a thousand half poems scribbled in paper napkins and back of old receipts

printed photographs pinned on one side of the wall

photos from the road, a hundred magnificent sunsets

photos of how small i am, standing by a huge waterfall

light reflected in a thick dense forest, my favorite kind of green

photos of the deep blue sea and emerald lagoons

photos of a campsite, at a beach or by a river

memories from the road shared with different people, a hundred versions of myself

a vast collection, a kind reminder, a sweet reunion

this is you, dear, this is you

this room is a museum of moments and events

a mausoleum of all the lives you’ve lived

this room is recognition, a warm embrace, a voice that whispers

“hello, welcome back. tell me everything, where have you been?

decorate me new again, show me all that you’ve seen.”

a thousand half poems