In celebration of my unexpected therapy night after finding out that I’m very much like most.
One more time I find myself
At this odd hour, asking for help
I slither back to my memories
Filled with free time and unhealthy cheese
It’s literature that comes to me
Or do I flock to it, all merry
And ask for something that smells like old
Stories that shine like pots of gold
I pick the one that aches the least
Nevertheless feels like a grand feast
It feels like revisiting the childhood
From where I stand on an isolated piece of wood
And hover around watching myself engrossed
As I rediscover my love for empathy and loss.