I was staring right at her
That one person who knew me
The one person I could share everything with
Sunsets, music, thoughts
She knew my desires, my weaknesses
Shared my moments, my joy and pain

I’ve always longed for that person
The perfect match
My soulmate
Through the years lots of people
Fit that role to a degree
But none completely
That elusive person the movies
And books alluded to
The idea that somewhere out there
One person exists that can
Complete me…live just for me…

She smiled at me
And I smiled back
We touched hands
Me and my mirror image

Searching for that person illusion
Has destroyed many lives
Brought discontent to the happiest heart.
The idea that being alone
Is not being complete

But if your heart is filled
With glory from another world
You become a fountain
Instead of a pit
You seek not the one
That can fulfill you
But seek how many you can fill
With joy, understanding, love…

The person illusion
Robs us of loves true meaning
Its not what we get from someone
Its what we give to everyone

We share our lives
We pour out the treasures of our hearts
Carefully depositing into those around us

The simple truth lies in the fact
That love isn’t self seeking…

It does not seek that person illusion
But loves others as it loves itself…

From the moment she hatched
She was meant to fly
The blue sky drew her like a magnet
But before her wings had a chance
She got hurt

To fly free and high
She was meant to be
But on the ground like a worm she stayed
Squirming, fluttering, hiding

She saw the gentle hands
That tried to take hold of her
But so many hands have hurt her
That she distrusted the gentle hands

One fateful day
Those pursuing gentle hands
Came towards her again
She lost it
For every time she was hurt
She attacked those hands

She pecked and flung herself at them
Till she was covered in blood
And the hands were still
Exhausted she lay
For the first time in the shelter
Of the now still cold hands

Time passed and something stirred
She felt something warm
Gently stroking her head
In astonishment she gazed
As the gentle hands came back to life

They picked her up
Covered her broken, bloody feathers
She could feel the power throbbing
Through her with every heart beat

Suddenly the hands opened up
She saw the clear blue sky
The one her heart longed for
And for the first time felt a glimmer of hope

Then she was thrown up high
Into a life she only dreamed of
In panic she fluttered her wings
In fear she closed her eyes
Flight….
The bird was flying
She was whole!

She circled, relishing the freedom
The sheer joy of being
What she was meant to be
Then she went back
To the gentle hands whose life
Was now her own

I look out of these eyes
A soul trapped in a shell of skin
People pass me by
Their eyes appraise my shell
I’m rejected, desired, despised

So fragile, so thin
This veil that covers me
Only the windows of my eyes
Allowing a glimpse into me

Who am I?
Desperation claws at my soul
To break free of this confinement
No one sees beyond it

I decorate it
I neglect it
No matter how much time spend on it
I remain trapped within it

I’m inside this fragile shell
My life is hidden
This shell is getting old
It won’t last forever

And when I am free
Who will I be?
Stripped of this shell
All will see
The real ME

I remember the day I first spotted the cup. It was a cool Autumn afternoon and I was walking past the shop windows when it stopped me in mid stride.

Standing alone on a glass shelf the cup was exquisite. Real diamonds seemed to form delicate flowers with golden stems and leaves. I had never seen a cup as beautiful. I could just picture its maker carefully putting on the finer details.

From then on I never went
past that shop without spending a few moments admiring its beauty.
It seemed untouchable, above any other cup or at least part of an elite few.

Then one wintry day on a whim I went inside the shop and asked if I could look at it up close. The shopkeeper frowned at my request. “We don’t usually allow the general public to touch our cups.”

He must have seen the disappointment in my eyes and for some unknown reason decided to humour me. He put on velvet gloves and ever so gently took it of the shelf. I felt my heart beating. To see this beauty up close, at last.

The shopkeeper suddenly gasped in horror. Then my eyes fell on what he’d seen. Inside the cup someone, probably a child, had dropped a piece of banana.

It had gone rotten, black and mouldy.

To see this awful sight in this exquisite cup was shocking indeed. How could this beautiful cup hold such ugliness. Was it even possible.

I felt a deep sadness inside me for the special cup. Maybe a plain cup has a better life. It gets used a lot but at least it fulfills its purpose. Its life has meaning beyond its outer appearance.

A plain cup gets held lovingly in hands that cradle a warm cup of tea daily. It gets dirty but never for long. It wouldn’t be left to rot. The very act of giving itself to serve also cleanses it.

The shop keeper carried the cup into the darkness of storage, where hopefully it would be restored but it had lost its appeal for me.

I went home and got my favourite tea cup. The one with the painted roses and little chip on the bottom and made myself a cup of tea.

As I caressed it between my hands I felt the same joy I felt when I first spotted the exquisite cup. I never realized I own the most exquisite cup of all.

A real one.