Light. Space. You.
You slept late this morning. The light already bright.
Your eyes squint.
They will adjust. That is the story of your life,
adjusting to others, finding your way
in the midst of someone else’s story,
rarely recognized for the effort it takes
to blend in. To appear as if you belong
where ever you are. And after a lifetime of that?
You finally find out it did not matter.
That who you were was always enough,
That some would love you and some would not
and you are better off knowing which are which.
About this poem
The last decade or so, for all its hardship, despite the cancer, the pandemic, the depression, all the struggles of people I love, have been the best of my life, as I grew, finally, into myself and learned to be just that and nothing else.
The picture is from the Rosenberg House which I was paid to photograph as part of a Marketing project a few years ago. If I could live in someone else’s house, it would be this one. Light and space. Color and things in the perfect proportion.
From that small glimpse, I think I could live there too. The light is wonderful.