I have a predilection for melancholy, a generous bent toward nostalgia, and I surrender completely to isolated flashes of memory in the gloaming. I’ve spent hours in meditation, bending toward the present, then settling into a place of peaceful nothingness in the moment. I’ve loved so many ways, the love of blood, and the love of heart, and the love of so much more and so much less. I’ve aged into a life I like, a daily rhythm that fits a soul like mine, that craves both experience and time to write it. I am middle-aged, no longer a tree climber or a speed demon, no longer willing to play fast and loose with your heart or mine. I have learned the lessons of my time, and I have become less of what I wanted and more of what I needed, and I’m happy. But sometimes in the half-light of dusk (one can’t meditate every moment) I think of days long gone, and I remember you.
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