Small poem of self-compassion

I’m in love with this garden I have found myself in. With the boy who is sitting on the other side of this florid house. In love with the parts of me that say the wrong things at the wrong time. And that particular part, right now, that is too shy to sit with the others. In love with the me that gets carried away — like a leave! — by gusts of joy, and sadness, and melancholy in ways that is far beyond my control.