There I Am

"You are in some songs that still get played on the radio when the DJ is feeling nostalgic.
You are in a book you once lent me (never returned) with yellowed pages.
You are in trees when I touch them, even ones without names carved into them.
You are in the way someone on the street laughs as I pass them.
You are in a box I keep filled with letters.
You are in a ring I no longer wear.
And, every day, you each get a moment to haunt me."

Found this poem on a blog titled 'I Wrote This For You.' And you know what - it sort of made me feel like me again. It ignited that dwindling imagination tucked into the fold of where I meet the world. Everything about this poem is screaming out to me in muted tones, reminding me of what I've forgotten. That I am more than I make myself out to be.

You may not understand this blog, and that's okay. But I do, and I did, and I always will.

I wish I had more words than this, but I don't. I have only the very real sense that something more is written than what either you or I can see with our eyes.