"this is just to say"

Degas

You might comfort me. You might, thinking not of yourself but of me.

You could say, "I'm sorry you were reminded this week.  I know how it makes you feel.  I don't want you to feel that way." 

That's something you might say.  

You could bear that, couldn't you? To touch me with hand or word? 

Some things stay with us a long time.  We think that deep healing has come and IT HAS NOT.  

This week shocks for the soul.  

The pearl whom I never dreamed remembered what you called your "friendship" -- says it so clearly.  

How much you must have talked about your "friend"."

Did you hear what I said just now?    

We live with this.  Much to let go.  

The mind moves so rapidly that sometimes how one felt in the past becomes how one feels in the present.  

Something that took my breath once takes it again (and then again).  

For good or ill some memories-thoughts-facts do not go away.  For good or ill.  

Ill as in sad, needing God.  

Heart-held, mind-felled, cat-belled warnings please, no more right now, so much to dodge.  

Each of us carries a lot, sometimes mired in sand.  

Letting go is not a one-time event. 

It doesn't erase anything; that is not its job. 

Letting go can only change our relationship to what is.  We do it over and over.  

I let go of something long past.  I admit the reminders are not your fault.   

I do not know anything you do not know; that is probably true.    

So much is a dance.  Not all of life, but some.  

The parts we might want to sidestep, to leap beyond, to twist away from. 

So much of life is a dance. 

Look at the leaves, they're dancing.  

I can dance with you.