Returning

I want so badly to find comprehension and words--some way to recognize the tender blossoms tangled in the undergrowth, some way to seal a new determination not to demand perfection--but to love, love what is good.

Yet I am restless and tired, and do not know how far I must step back to uncross my eyes. I do not know how long it will take to properly remember, and in the meantime, I fear I may forget.