Behind Revolving

Someone once told me that they thought I was as beautiful as the moon and her stars. They told me that I was like artwork. They were the only muse that I had for months. And then they left. Revolving was a cathartic poem to write, and I loved the process. I have always loved revolving doors, and as a child, I would enter them and spin around until I eventually escaped their grasp, dizzy and giggling.

The effect that those doors had on me when I was younger reminded me of how this person influenced me. However, enduring the spinning of those doors is very different from enduring a person changing completely. The confusing, uncertain nature of the doors reminded me of this person. For several months, my happy muse turned into something slightly difficult to write about. In my head, they should have been revolving around me, and I, him. But now that I have the gracious power of hindsight and a tiny bit more wisdom, I've realised that the Moon, the Earth, and the Sun are all connected in their ways. And the moon is still magnificent.

Revolving is about acceptance, in a way. Accepting that you are more important to yourself than someone else is to you. Accepting that you can care without losing yourself. Enduring something that you shouldn't have to. And being happy because of, not despite.