It has been months since you have been to the sea,
since you have stood in fog and horizons that stretched far into oblivion,
since you have soaked yourself in their strange infinity
that makes you feel both small, and enough.
It has been months and the magic is wearing off.
bits and pieces of you are being colored in by others
and your secret power, to simply be who and what you are,
wavers like a mirage.
About this poem
I have been reading a lot on the internet about being enough this week. Where, or with whom, or when doing what makes you feel you are enough?.