The past and the present, superimposed. Not a line, I thought. A scribble. And my heart ached to see her. She closed the notebook and smiled at me.
I’m trying really hard to not let this get to me, but it’s a slow stride. No one was murdered, but someone did die, a very good friend & it was with me not finding her present from our past in time. She’d be the very first to say “get over it” “don’t worry about the past, or the now, your alive!!!” And she’d try to cheer ME up when it should be the other way around, but she was too full of life and not giving a damn about what others say. It seems the good always do get taken too early and again that should be the other way around. If I thought for a minute I could do it, I’d swap years with her, I’d go in her place and she could live out however many years I had left.
