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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