Saturday, 3 January 2009
Therapy
Memories stir. Lithographs of a time ago; thoughts, images, feelings brought back to life by a practiced hand. And with them comes self. Me. Was, is, can be. Pain floods, but the tears are good. I curl near him, careful not to disturb, grateful for each listened breath, for each sense of nearby warmth. And am comforted, return to sleep.
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2 comments:
I'm glad you were calmed, and sorry I slept on regardless.
You were ill... it was important that you got better.
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