If We Are Ever To Be Loved

That lonesome soul, that poor, dejected-hopeless person, him I could fall in love with. That is a face and a heart. I could indeed love quite obliquely. That one who is there in the mirror. neglected and questioning 'who-am-I? Why am I crying, puffy-eyed? Who will want me? Who will love me? ' I am practically nothing... No one sees me. No one hears me. I might as well be invisible. I might as well not even exist. 'But to love ourselves, we all must if we are ever to be loved.' And realise we are more than the sum of our inadequate parts. We are a true reflection of everything- tangible and mysterious. We are the unwanted wedding gifts of the universe, of nature -The Big Bang without which there could be no marriage. No difficult fused emerging self, no reluctant self-image indulging in self-loathing and self-love or the love of more well-rounded others. That one there, that single one there at the centre of the mirror is the mirror image- of all the other lover's ripples that's been and gone before and yet to come again. Like the stitches in a torn open garment seam revealing the fabric's delicacy. The undergarments of a lover we can only imagine and wistfully dream of reverently touching and one day unrevealing the whole.