Perfect Extrospection

Moments where I turn my critical eye outward

Usually result in,

At best,

My utter contempt.

At worst,

My self-destruction.

So I have learned what the AA-ers taught me

And found the courage to change the things I can.

What could be more malleable than my own,

Fractious,

Broken,

Turbulent,

Mind?

So I have dedicated years to ruthless

Introspection.

Making myself into a person that while,

I don’t get too chummy with them,

I can stand to occupy the same skin as.

So for the majority of my adult life I have

Turned my eyes in

Looked to myself for answers

For perfect moments of clarity

To change and mold the way that I react,

Adapt,

Change,

Grow.

But sometimes,

In the wee hours of the morning,

When everyone else should be sleeping,

I turn my face to the window.

I look out upon the world,

Gaze into its cold and unfeeling face,

And see,

Nothing,

But

Miracles.

I see the way the dew collects on the grass,

Their little green arms raised to the sun.

To be blessed by this,

Sparkling,

Drop

Of wonder.

I see a person parallel park perfectly the first try.

I see the sun creep over the mountains,

Spilling yellow and gold and pink and perfect warmth

Over a ground too frozen to remember sweating.

I see curls,

I see eyes,

Inquisitive,

Full of love,

Cloyed with sleep.

I see hands,

Calloused so long they have gone smooth,

Reach from under blankets,

To touch my face.

I see strangers helping strangers.

I see protests for love of each other.

I see strength in vulnerability,

And comfort in nakedness.

I see a heady rush of chemicals.

My brain is a lab and here,

We

Do

Science.

But numbers are cold storytellers.

A recitation of facts in the chill air.

There is no romance in dopamine.

There is only love in it’s reception.