The heart is fragile and sometimes breaks.
Sometimes hope is misplaced. Sometimes rugs get pulled. Sometimes there are not enough hours in the day to sustain relationships. Sometimes the timing is not right. Sometimes having work is a respite, and holding it together enough to not cry in public is the real work. Sometimes gratitude for being told the truth early, before falling deeper is a possibility, has to be the prevailing triumph.
Sometimes being left with lovely memories, and a comfy plaid shirt, a warm plaid shawl, wrapped in a boy's messy Scotch-taped package, has to be enough.
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| NF's parting gift. Sweet, sweet boy. Sometimes they just slip away. |
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