The scene is picture-perfect
in my mind:
my younger self
stretched out on her bed,
stomach down so its mass
won’t oppress her,
wipe hips and massive thighs
spilling towards the edges.
Propped on her elbows,
pen poised in her right hand,
left hand dashing away tears
as she writes out her pain.
If I could travel back in time,
I would choose
this moment,
quiet and humble as it is.
How I would love
to sit next to her,
this younger me,
tell her she’s beautiful,
love and embrace her
with all my heart.
How might that have felt?
What wounds might it heal
for her to rest
in that embrace?
My yearning alone does not bend
time and space.
I will never know that balm.
I have only the present,
this moment,
the choice to reach out
to others equally burdened,
share with them
this dream of past embrace,
a dream which may,
with hope and love,
light the way
for their own path
to healing.
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