For taking you too lightly as a gift, heaven sent, not earned, I’m now grieving for lack of being present.
Wilder, in “Our Town”, said it best: not being aware, every moment of our lives, we’re existing in a living death.
To compound the omission, I tried to run from the grief, traversing through a dense forest, hiding in activities before I knew you. Silly. Ridiculously smiling at carved hearts in trees, that bore their pain, and mine, of stunted growth.
How foolish of me, to postpone the inevitable apology: to you, to the universe, to myself,
for not being presently focused, every moment of my journey, on your value, your worth, among the best.
Now that I know more, I try to breathe deeper, to understand the lesson that being present is the gift and the gift is to absorb the present.
Photo by Liam Pozz on Unsplash
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