12/12/22
“I’ll never get enough of you,”
he said,
but his were the wrong hands,
the wrong mouth.
“I’d choose the moments with you today
over the ones I’ve had
and the ones to come,”
he penned in love letters
that I memorized,
but his were the wrong hands,
the wrong heart.
Love painted me blind,
love drew me into myself,
love showed me my own image
reflected in their hands,
in their mouths,
in their hearts.
A false reflection
that I carried around,
tightly-gripped.
It’s easy to be
reminded reminded reminded
of these images I collected over years of pining,
of searching,
of taking matters into my own hands.
Of deciding declaring that I knew what I needed
and that I could get it for myself.
And I’m beginning to be more and more thankful for the reminding.
Thankful because I’ve set guilt aside,
dropped shame off the tallest skyscraper in town,
and replaced them with a tender heart.
I will not grasp too tightly to a wrong choice.
I will not condemn a moment of curious peering
because I’m realizing my access to the most love-filled perspective I’ll ever know.
Love doesn’t have to paint me blind – it can give me perfect vision.
Love doesn’t have to draw me into myself – it can open me up more fully, more securely.
Love wants to show me who I am and who I am yet to be – patiently, compassionately.
Be reminded of who you are, who you are yet to be.
Lightly,
Leah
Leah Kepley, M.Ed. 