I write to you, a memory, a hopeful premonition

A letter addressed, city unknown

Maybe a 3 story, narrow apartment; tucked inbetween épicerie and jardin d'enfants

A studio, barely lit, holding only what you need to pass the time between adventures

Whether the words are better addressed to myself; alone, wandering, hopeful

Or just to the future memory of the pair we are together

The point is not the words themselves, but the foreshadowing

Epic, longing and together

Why should I feel guilt for the emotions which pass over me

Through me, made of myself

A battle between yearning for past treasures left behind, abandonded, thoroughly used up

And what we think we deserve, what we assume we can handle and expect

But that misses the point

We've already exceeded our expectations

Already carried our crosses too long

We should know better than to underestimate ourselves

Assume we know our worth

But we are worth so much more than we can even know

The treasure we've been searching for is the journey,

Which has already given us so much more than we could ever ask for

We grow, in ways we conciously foster and those that we must face

We seek to better ourselves, despite ourselves

The battle between our innate understanding of ourselves,

And the fleeting glimpses of what we could be

Sometimes it's not up to us

We are but a leaf on the wind, a twig on the river

But forevermore we battle ourselves to realize

Each day is up to us, and we make of it what we can