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.

2 comments:

  1. I'm glad you were calmed, and sorry I slept on regardless.

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  2. You were ill... it was important that you got better.

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