The Person and the Permission

I think we sometimes give people authorship over chapters they merely happened to witness.

Someone enters our life while we are becoming more honest, more curious, more willing to feel.

And because they are standing there when it happens, we unconsciously hand them the pen.

You did this.

You opened me.

You saw me.

But perhaps they were only there when I finally stopped looking away.

That does not make the connection meaningless.

If anything, it makes it stranger and more beautiful.

Some people are not meant to become permanent structures in our lives.

They are windows.

For a while, the light enters through them.

And because we have been living in the same room for so long, we mistake the window for the sun.