At least once a week, I get lost in the face of my worth.
I am also losing you somewhere. More often, however, I find You in every gust of fresh wind, in a ray of sunshine, in the rustling of grass. There, I could get lost and find myself in you.
It is a new time, an unknown time. The time you look at it is special. Different for everyone, but maybe the same? We feel the storm in our soul. Eternal unrest. An unrestrained vision of the best and worst days. Which were, are they or will they come?
Salvation and the curse.
Closed in houses, still, for a long time. We can learn a lot about ourselves. What are we missing? What should we value? How to act and be a better person?
Still closed, we open our hearts to each other, and deeply we should show ourselves love. Especially self-love. Find what you miss and get it.
Who is it that says most, which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you,
In whose confine immurèd is the store
Which should example where your equal grew?
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory,
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admirèd everywhere.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
- William Shakespeare