Learn to love me (under the myrtle)

The sun’s shining on me as it slowly dips below the horizon for another day, its rays softly coming down.

The air is crisp, not too cold, but brisk enough to see your breath when you breathe.

Patches of light hit the grass, as it’s still, as I hear the birds chirp small and the faint sound of cars whisking away on the roads ahead.

I sit on the sidewalk: the old, rocky sidewalk I’ve walked on all these years like the old, cracked road in front of me my truck has driven on.

I don’t say it enough, but I love my home; It’s quiet, calm, small, community based, hidden, like a secret treasure, and has forests. It’s rare to have a forest in your backyard these days.

I look to the left and see my tree, my myrtle up above.

Gosh - she’s grown so much, from a sapling to a little tree. 

Her branches coil up, up, up to the blue blue sky as dusk approaches.

She’s always been different; she's left bare in the winter, blooms late in spring, doesn't have the normal flower colors, and seems to like to do things how she wants, when she wants only. A peculiar tree. But one I love, nonetheless.

And the memories I’ve made with that little tree I hold close.

She’s grown with me all these years; she's fed the birds with the little house on her branches all these years, and she’s still standing, and growing, just like me.

I wonder when I will bloom like her; truly find who I am. Will I be different?

I don't know.

All I know is that I can only think a flower I see is beautiful, even if it's not alike to the rest, maybe has fallen petals, a little wilted, or has some thorns, but I can still learn to love it, like I can with me.

And so I sit under the myrtle tree and ponder some more.

And as the sun fades, I feel calm again.

I’ll learn to love me, in time.