The Attic

And I come in
It's been waiting here for weeks
I never showed up until now.

This whole place
which I would call the attic
once made out of lost paths and scars.

The attic stays dark but warm,
as we heal through my downs and ups.
It lulls me right through the night,
and weaves sunlight onto my back.

The attic stays the same
resilient and wholehearted.
No matter how things change
It sees through me
by a sheer drop of breath.

What I left behind resides in the attic
placed in a muddle across the room.
They remain unforgotten
under million films of dust.
Per my visit
the flow of memories resumes.

And that was done twice a day
now I drop by once every six weeks.
Without a chance of saying hi,
I'm waving on my way to leave.

Leaving the attic, I was scared.
The world welcomes me with grand promises.
I am dazzled by the best of glory
It's also me haunted by the worst of my ghosts.

The attic is far from complete.
Look again, it is full of holes.
Every corner lies an unresolved business,
and thousand more stories to be retold.

The attic is where
you're meant to go and come back,
to grow humble, loving and wise,
to live a bit more
to breathe a little deeper,
to surrender,
and settle with kindness.

These words are pouring out
the moment I'm in the attic.
The fire is on
as if I've always been around.
The resilience is well-kept untarnished
here the lost soul again to be found.