July 19, 2013
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It takes a lot, most of the time,
to admit and accept faults or
circumstances. It takes a lot
more to convince oneself to
get up again and smile, or
talk, or get on with life as
if this wreck of an organ
was never done any harm.
It doesn't take a lot, though,
to sincerely wish the best for
your friends. Doesn't take a
lot to say hello, say goodbye,
hope they are well, take care.
And it definitely doesn't take
much to give a word of thanks.
It's something that, in person,
you practice so often and easily
among family members; friends;
strangers who help pick your coin
up from off the ground; those men
and women at checkout counters;
to the bus driver; to train conductors.
And yet, with me, there is just
this great, immeasurable silence.
I suppose this silence says it all.
I am not angry. I never was.
I am just sadly disappointed
in someone so dear to me.
You could have chosen to be kind.
Because that final letter meant a
lot for me to write, but more than
anything, it truly wished you well.
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