As a human being, I am complicated. There are many parts: many voices, layers and stories that make me me.
There are the light parts: the enthusiastic parts, the hopeful parts, the appreciative parts; the parts that shriek with delight when they watch epic romanic love stories; the parts that know love conquers all.
And then there are the sad, small parts. The ugly parts. The fearful parts. The regretful parts. The dark parts.
There were those moments when everything I held dear was seemingly gone. After I put myself out there and got burned. When I loved someone who didn't love me back. When my love just wasn’t enough. When I abused and ignored my body and mind to the point of exhaustion. To the point of knocking on death's door. Those moments when I lay alone in my shadowy hole of despair: raw, vulnerable, and defeated, with an aching heart and unbearable emotions; when all hope was lost.
something else was down there, patiently waiting for me.
Something, that, despite a few close encounters, I'd never met before. Something so powerful, it could never be defeated. Something so whole, that it could never be completed. Something that loves me unconditionally. And believes in me fully. Something that knows me far better than I do, that is betting on me to succeed. Someone who will never give up waiting for me to remember myself.
The warrior part of me.
The ancient me. The divine me.
The part that still hopes after its world has been shattered. The part that reminds me I am enough. More than enough.
The part that reminds me what all of the best love stories have in common: they had to go against the odds to get there.
The part that holds on to the lessons, and lets the rest go.
That picks itself up, looks up at the stars and remembers it is a part of something grand.
That magic really does exist. That things are never as they seem.
It remembers sunsets and rainbows, rainforests and echoes, mysteries and stories...
It remembers its own.
And the power it has to rewrite it at any moment.