Chamomile

I wish when all this comes to an end , you remember that the life you led didn’t belong to you alone but also to the people who cradled your laughter and dreams in their arms. I hope you remember that you were loved enough . Especially on rainy days when you slept on the couch while being surrounded by the echoes and comfort of the people who were simply at ease watching you tucked in safe and sound. Life is too short to resent yourself , but it is also long enough to leave specks of yourself everywhere you go , like In a recipe you taught your friend , or in the letters you wrote to your forlorn lovers ,and in moments where you held your mother only to be held in return.

I was 22 when I came across Plath and her fig analogy . I still picture My younger self , seated on the edge of her bed , trying to grasp the weight of every word that Plath left me with. But I forgot to take into account that I was still young. Life was full of possibilities . The fig tree hadn’t grown fully yet and I felt comfortable waiting for my life to begin around it .

Turning 25 felt a lot like a page from Mary Oliver’s poetry book. It was full of heartbreak but also full of kindness. To bask under the sun , peeling oranges for friends and giving love a second chance.