Room
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.”