Sometimes the only thing we see
when we look at each other
is the other’s eyes—not so much
their color, nor their shape,
but the way they soften, the way
they seem to say, “I see you, I see
all of you, and there is no reason
for you to hide.” And for us who have
spent so much time hiding,
it can be shocking to be seen.
In our dreams, perhaps, we
allow it. But to be seen awake,
to be seen when we are messy
and messier than that, to be seen
when we are tired and hurt
and not sure where we stand?
In that moment, to be seen
by eyes that say without a blink,
“Here I am,” that seeing is a window we
can climb right through and land
in a field of light. This is what
the soul remembers—how to love
without judgment, how to love without
should, how to live with the defenses
down. This is the gift we can
give to each other. This softening.
This tenderness. This allowing
each other to stop looking for a cure
for being who we are and to simply be
ourselves, masks off no matter what,
to know ourselves as love.