Human moments.

It was one day after Thanksgiving. We had each spent the holiday alone. I came over to your place and we talked and talked for hours on end. I told you about knowing. And how if I could just remember that I knew, then I would be okay. I would be okay forever and ever. Just remembering gives us sweet relief. Our hearts opened that night. You told me about the seal figurine your Dad had given you and the epiphany of the symbol it represented now that he had passed. You cried. I told you about flying. I told you about ignoring the feeling of my back. We meditated. Which, I think, is a very personal thing to be doing with another. I find myself 5 of 6 years later wondering how you are and if you remember.