I shudder to refer to you as ‘dear.’ Yet, you have been with me for so long, by virtue of the fact that you have become a part of me, I suppose that has entitled you to earn the accolade of affection, though my heart grants it unwillingly.
You are an enigmatic and elusive creature, a chameleon, changing color with habitat and season.
Some say you pass with time, like grains of sand sifting through my fingers, no longer resting in the safety of my palm.
Others say you are a process, as if by accomplishing twelve prescribed steps, I could graduate from your possession and be free of you.
But you are not a process. You do not pass, at least not in this lifetime.
You are cyclical, like the moon. You are ever-present, waxing and waning. Some nights full, round and bright, exposing depths and darkness. …
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