The spaces

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The spaces

The spaces

The spaces have long been you. They are still you, but not entirely. There are pinholes of light where once there was only darkness. There is space around the sadness. The thoughts are there, and I cannot resist them, but in letting them be, in letting them churn and wrestle, watching with kind interest as they do, I can practise non-reaction. I don’t have to run to you. I don’t have to beg, or cry, or wish. Though I do wish, still. There was a fog that morning we trudged in silence to the wooden room in the forest. The

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