Contentment is perhaps, not something to be perpetual
Rather, as the hedonic treadmill sinks our feet into splintered mud
Before releasing them as we patter into a welcoming sea
We find contentment to be.. given when we aren't looking for it

Like love, perhaps.

I should talk about her, shouldn't I
This one who fills me with ambition and confidence as the man I am now
And a creeping fear, that her sight of the man I was
Would undo the foundations, bring me back down to insecurity

But then.. I know that's not true.

She asks to see everything
Not knowing how the floodgates bulge
A history of positive and negative extremes
That I still have trouble looking at with clarity
Or without the wounds unclosing

Yet...
I know if she sees it all
Clutching my hand, with honest open eyes
And a heel breaking the hinges towards a reveal

She may be angry with me
She may pity me
Or find reasons to question me further

But
I can trust her
I can let myself be me with her
Even if I don't quite know what that means

As I boil out into the sand and let go of productivity
In this strange solace of words where I look inward
With eyes warmer and more rational than I've had before

I know she is the reason this is all easier,

She is the reason to be more,

So.. when I'm able,

I'll show her who I was.