Love and loss have taken away my desire to study and instead filled me with poetry.

I have tried to open my books on psychological theories, but I can’t.

Instead, I read a message you once sent me until the tears arrive and my vision becomes blurry.

I’ve been told my poetry is a gift.

I fake a smile when I hear this and cry later.

I try to keep my feelings at bay and return to my studies, but I can’t.

Each morning and night, I find myself writing.

I used to take a hot shower to wash away the day.

Now, I take one to trick myself into thinking that its warmth is you.

A magician once told me in Brazil that I was to be a writer one day.

I laughed at this and told him no, I am to be a psychologist.

He smiled gently at me and said, “Maybe, but your greatest gift is writing.”

I woke up this morning and began to read a collection of poems by Rumi I found in this bookstore in a town near the Skagit River in the Pacific Northwest.

I wonder if Rumi wanted to be a poet.

I wonder if he knew he had a gift.

I wonder if he also felt this much.

I think this line says it all:

“Love has taken away my practices and filled me with poetry.” ~ Rumi

Maybe I spend more time writing poetry than I do reading about developmental psychology these days.

Maybe I now wake up and write.

Maybe this is true.

It’s okay, though.

Because just like Rumi, I fell in love a few times.

Several times, in fact.

And now that love has taken me away from my practices and filled me with poetry.

And I can wish it away all I want, but I can’t change it.

I am a poet, and this is my gift.

~