my daughter has been pestering me
with her four-year old version of sympathy
“I’m so sorry Jamie died,” she says – at least once a day.
When I think of him, I do it without thinking: as if
some part of me is connected to that (whatever) he is?
When I saw the triangle I knew my mistake; blind to the need
behind the fusion – why is it I cannot let you go?
The thing you are is not what I wanted you to be.
Love, let me call you brother.
I, who have no sisters or brothers, look with some degree of innocent envy on
those who may be said to be born to friends.
- James Boswell
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