Dear Friend -
I was inspired by you this evening. I had a moment, when the baby was down, where I thought of you. I wondered what it would look like if we sat down together and where we would be. I wondered how long it has really been. Have all these days turned into weeks? Months? Or years?
I thought of your smile. And I wondered what memory you might have of me. Do I look younger in your mind? Was I kind?
It seems I’m at that stage in life where the wheels have turned from the highway and into the drive. The garden is full now – and I wish you could see what all those memories have come to be. I wish you could sit on my porch with a glass in your hand. I’d pop inside a new bottle – and you’d have a moment alone. Just a moment there on the chipping paint of my front porch to understand what I’ve become. A car in the drive. A hose I paid good money for, and a garden in bloom.
I thought of you – and who it is you’ve come to be. I thought of how fun it would be to know. Not in the media way – but the way of your feet. I’d love to take a walk with you and strike out from your place. You could tell me about your hope. We could stop at a crosswalk and talk about your woes. We could walk past all those sights you know so well – and the places you like to call your own. Yeah. I kept my eyes closed - just thinking about what it’d be like to walk along your road.
Writing about it all now – I guess these memories are like those little square photos we all used to own. And we’re all just walking around with these shoebox brains of times we spent together – and I wonder if the pictures you have look like mine. Or maybe they don’t. It’d just be nice to put them side by side. We’re all just tangled balls of twine – but if you’re reading this, I know that somehow, we’re tied. Somewhere. Somewhere down all these long lines.
I thought about how nice it would be to relive that moment. What was it like – our last goodbye?
So I’m tipping my hat to you. Raising a glass. Sending an open letter wishing you well. And that I hope, if our lines should ever cross again, that we pause long enough to enjoy it.
All my best to you,
Micah
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