Something like acceptance

I grow back into myself;
and what you do, or don't do,
slowly cease to matter.
I grow back, slowly,
into my self.

This self that is less than perfect;
sometimes slothful,
sometimes petty,
occasionally,
almost by chance,
magnificent.

This self that is
multi layered,
multi textured.

This self that feels
like a neglected home
needing a good spring clean
to clear all the cobwebs away.

This unfamiliar,
most familiar
self.

And in the early hours,
all those things that mattered
cease to matter,
and there is only this.

Soft breathing.
The quilt round my shoulders
keeping me warm.
The weight of the cat at my feet.
And something like acceptance.