A dented parcel, Tied with twine, Of broken thoughts And marbled pine. Of shattered hopes And frozen souls, Of stolen dreams And unreached goals. But when you tear the crisp brown paper… There is yet more. More layers of the same failure, The same mistake, The same grief. But you keep tearing. Tearing through layer after layer of thick paper, Because you want to know what’s in the middle. You would’ve gone at it forever, For all eternity, If the parcel— That is, me— Hadn’t trusted you to show its secrets. And as you rip the final layer, The true gift shows itself. A mirror. But the mirror isn’t the special part, it’s the reflection in it. The reflection is important. You.
And as a new parcel forms, Hiding the gift once again, I know all the pain, The sadness, The mistakes will remain. And that’s okay. Sometimes I’m drowning in that package, Trying to hide that I care. Like now; It consumes me and I am left breathless. But there’s always a friendly, loving hand to pull me out. For that I am grateful. To all of you.
