…how you would play with my hair in back when we sat together. I felt safe and loved… then.
Adpated from a poem by Pulitzer Prize-winner Edna St. Vincent Millay
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss her in the weeping of the rain;
I want her at the shrinking of the tide;
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,–so with her memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell her foot or shone her face
I say, “There is no memory of her here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering her!