Close Friends

Completely surrendered,
we became willing partners
to what we already knew.

Time and space
briefly suspended,
as the threads of emotion
wore thin,
the fabric that once shielded us
from what was real.

Boundaries formed,
testing nature’s call,
her will, her strength,
pulling us
in opposite directions.

The seeds of our undoing
settled quietly,
embedding themselves
in the hollow of our souls.

Lost,
uncertain,
worn down,
we moved through it
as if it were necessary.

Courage declared,
determination assumed,
yet something lingered,
unspoken,
carried with us.

We shed what we were,
as if transformation
could be forced,
as if wings made of wax
would hold.

The noise of the day faded,
the distant rhythm of the train
marking its end
without acknowledgment.

What remained
was not accusation,
but recognition.

A merging of what was seen
and what could no longer
be denied.

This is what close friends keep—
not comfort,
not illusion,
but the willingness
to stand inside the truth,
and listen
as it unfolds.

October 7, 1982