Perhaps, I should count myself lucky to have a tenure riddled with…
‘the wisdom to know the difference.’ My battles were mine to own. In each and every instance. I removed my tomorrow place. And, the everyday…of its own importance.
There were fewer paths to strife… But still, the walks, holding its hands, are still nearby. Dear prudence has taught…not all journeys are fair.
The gift of pain is benign. In these massive woods of recovery, It is a simple route to getting lost. A struggle and stumble each day to embellish with forgetfulness. So often times, an err to my judgment. … No matter, I must still go my own way…If only for today
Had I known this would have been our last embrace. Would I have given more than I take. I summon up that specter steeple. As well as, that rare smile that graced your face. Even now, I ask the hereafter, with quiet reservation, who does not falter? ♥ Ominous choices of two forks in the road. ‘No, you did all you could. How were you to know. She always likened herself to beauty being bold.’ ♥ Those were the days of romantic sobriety. Young love in tarnished hands. A reckoning of waters, so still they moved. I moved. You moved. ♥ I am perpetually swayed back to that secular summer place… with the worshipers in the sun’s face. The only thing I knew to do was offer a way to leave. Proposing a week’s reprieve. ♥ Seven days. It moved me. It moved you. And, at the time,
that was the best that we could do.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)