I feel like I am writing you this from fifty years away.
I watched the debate and wondered what you thought.
I watched the Cubs floundering post-season efforts, and wondered what you thought.
I dug a photo of you out of the closet, full in frame, and wondered what you look like.
I hope, sincerely (and I mean it) that you are happy, and from the handicapped observations that I can make, I think you are.
There’s just an itch at the end of the day, and it’s dying, that I feel only you can scratch (and I know that’s not true).
I just miss seeing you and hope that we will find a way to make that happen one day. You meeting mine. Me meeting yours. Us looking into each other’s eyes and knowing we made the right decision, without regrets.
50 years
Comments
2 responses to “50 years”
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i like the look of gblog and bullpencatcher.
yes, i am happy, but still these messages from you make me wonder and panic. i hope that’s normal. -
Just simple template changes.
Don’t panic. I don’t understand panic? Wonder, yes. Panic, no.
I am much happier too. Have found my Zen ways again and am just taking the road without worrying so much. I don’t know where I will end up at the end of the day (Karen, someone else, or even you) but I am content in knowing that I will find contentment (mouthful!).
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