I see you.
I see your compassion and am in awe of your capacity.
I see your light, even as you seek the solace of shadow.
I see your calloused hands that are soft and yielding as you massage your aging mother’s feet.
I see the scars on your heart from the times it broke and am fiercely proud that you can still love. Fiercely.
I see your struggle and adore your ability to find ease.
I see the choices you are making and how they honour your vision.
I see where you are going. You may want to consider bringing your oxygen mask.
I see your desire to be held for who you are. Just as you are.
I see what wants to be released from your life. It starts with “No, but thanks for asking.”
I see your contradictions. They’re emerging as a rich tapestry.
I see your eyes well up when the bagpipes play.
I see your reluctance. I see you as a reluctant leader. Oh yes.
I see how your presence lights the room. Mega-wattly.
I see you heal. And how you do it.
I see your belief in your intentions.
I see you dance in the space between your vulnerability and your truth.
I see your curves and marvel at your lusciousness.
I see what is busting to get out of your chest and into the world. It’s been caged for far too long.
I see your timid bodaciousness.
I see your tap root of respect.
I see the doubt. I see the fear. I see the fearful doubt and the doubtful fear. And yet…
I see your deep desire to do more. For everyone.
I see the joy in your impeccability. And I see the beauty in your hot mess.
I see your epic struggle with impatience. (You are gaining ground.)
I see you holding doors open for everyone, no matter how closed the doors can feel to you.
I see the undulations IN and the unfolding OF your story. And it quenches my thirst.
I see you.