Go Back

In the end
We always go back to what we are
And every time
What we are is different from what we used to be

Sooner or later
The scaffolding of our self-story comes tumbling down
Revealing us, raw and unscripted
If only for a moment

The stories live their life and then they die
The Love becomes the love
Then becomes a love
And then it fades into the dark well of the past

The delusions live their life and then they die
The Hurt becomes a hurt
A hurt becomes a blessing
And then it fades into the dark well of the past

Sooner or later
We always go back to what we are
Raw and unscripted, if only for a moment.

I first published this poem on Luna’s blog. I’ve photographed the poppies in the wheatfield before the pandemic, and before many other things happened. It feels like a different life.