Let go, let flow

At home in the mirror I face my own face to see what I am made of. You see what your made of, do judge the worth the hair and the nose. But make a conscious decision that the worth of a person resonates out from the heart. A muscle made strong by cyclical rotations. Cycles, and heartbreak residing in the kitchen of my mind, I rarely take my heart out of the drawer, like heirloom jewelry, I'd be too disappointed if at loss. But what is the point of books that merely sit on the shelf? Occasionally I wear it as an ornament for all to see. For you I accidentally served it on a plate. As soon as you arrived, like a guest to sip the water and place it lightly back upon the tray. Unfinished.

That you seem to have refused should come as no surprise. That I offered it to you after renouncing the false pretense based on a temporary fleeting thought makes me re-evaluate if we should be together, India.

Did you ever perceive as your own or did you always know that half of me was never yours to begin with. The moment the door closed and it was me all alone you were still all around me. I sat in the cold of the morning and wondered about you, only to breathe you in and release the burden of committing to you. You were never mine to own India. I'd rather us not own each other but coexist. To be wrapped together in a blanket of warmth. To be love and not just have love.