This page in the book belongs to me
And it's so messy as you see,
With notes on margins
And here's a dry maple leaf.
All the printed words so good,
All my scribble, unintelligible.
This room in the house belongs to me.
It's all one big mess as you may see.
With books here and there,
And here's, this thing, and there's, that.
All the neat things so out of place
Amid this chaos of artful neglect and lack of order.
This place in my life belongs to you.
But I still have to free it up for you,
To clean a bit here and there,
Fix this here, and take that out of that there.
All the good feelings and intentions so appropriate
But what am I to do with all the insecurity, the lack of confidence,
The lack of time, lack of understanding, lack of trust,
Lack of my own knowledge of myself -
Is it you that this place belongs to, or
Did I mistake you for someone else?
And if I did, will you forgive me that?
If I did, will the one this place is meant for
Forgive me too, for leaving him out in the cold
And having tea with you?