3 years

From three months to three years
Every little worry I had is faded away
And I still have more to go

Lots of folks say they lost track
I think I'm the only one who celebrates, really
I ponder why it matters to me

I guess it matters because it used to matter
That number used to mean the world to me
It was my way to happiness

Three years.

Three years, and I've uprooted my life again.

Three years, and I try to make plans with friends.

Three years, and I realize there is no end.

I look in the mirror, and I see exactly what I want to see. And it's great, it's wonderful, it's me. But my heart still bleeds. The ink hasn't dried on the page. I'm more satisfied than I've been in my life, and I'm still not satisfied.

Maybe, in another three years, I'll have a better idea of what satisfaction is for me. I know it's not this, but that's okay. Maybe in another three years, I'll accept that I'm never satisfied. Maybe, maybe, just maybe, I'll understand why.

It's hard to ask for what you need when you don't know what it is. I thought it was comfort, I thought it was compassion, I thought it was stability. Somewhere in trying to get what I need, I lost sight of myself.