Full circle

I started at zero,
small, scared, insignificant,
yet curious and ready,
looking for you.
At ninety, you appeared,
out of nowhere,
and everywhere,
and shook my hand,
and a bit of my mind.
At one hundred and eighty,
you held me tight
while I wept, lost
in the dark maze,
and you sang to me
of gardens and space,
wings, seeds and magic.
At two hundred and seventy,
you slashed my pride
and shamed the last bit
of me out of me.
At three hundred and sixty,
you let me go,
with a wave and a kiss,
both of us laughing,
content and ready
for more zeros to come.


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