She had found me before she found me.
She had stood outside my workplace.
She had not gone in.
I sat down on the floor of the storage unit with the photograph in my hands and tried to understand what it meant to want something that much and still choose to wait.
To choose to let it happen gently, or not at all.
At the bottom of the same box was a small notebook.
I opened it to the last written page.
*Saw her today going into the building on Clement Street.
She was carrying a coffee and laughing at something on her phone.
She looked happy.
She looked like herself.*
*I didn’t go in.
I wasn’t ready.
Or maybe she wasn’t.
Or maybe I just wanted one more day of it being possible before it became real.*
*Next week I start volunteering at St.
Catherine’s Hospice.
I put in the application this morning.
