Beneath the clamors of men and tradition

Beneath the layers of my mistakes and despair

Beneath the veils of confusion and questions

lies an infinite tenderness

that I think,

is You.

There, waiting deep inside

as You’ve always been

surer than I’ve ever been in my skin

as steady as the running sun

there You are.

Not as I’ve heard You were,

Nor as many still say You are,

but exactly as I’ve known You,

eye to eye,

there You are.

‘Do You still know me,’ I asked, clammy fingers twisting together,

‘when I’ve changed so much?’

You resound from within, gentle waves over my ragged pebbled beach.

‘There was, and never will be, a time

when I do not know you.’

— upon coming home

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