Wishing you were here
I remember how we used to scuttle up the trunk after one another, like a line of ants. So happy we had the balance. Forgetting the frustration and fear before this.
Then we’d straddle it, grinning like gibbons, threatening to push each other off and gripping the rough bark. Descending only when another challenge presented itself.
But when I saw him, alone, I knew he didn’t want to be followed. He’d gone out on a limb, suspended between ‘let’s make it work’ and ‘It’s over.’
Or elated about his travel and needing to say, directly, ‘wishing you were here’.
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