Help her with a sad task. Hold her through tears, loss, despair. When you see her face, the three silent weeks and what they might have meant are forgotten. She tells you she knows you are sending love while you hold her. You are, and you hope she can feel it and understand. You hope that it does her some good. She'll leave again soon, but now she is here, and that sacred feeling descends. You open. You cannot be sure she will do the same. This is fleeting, potentially deadly and, some would say, illusory. To you it is absolutely right, real, more vital than your own blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment