My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Different Realms
Some things will always be special. What follows is not less for being different or for happening later. It was just not there at the beginning and so was not there to share in a moment, or a time, that does not become retrospectively available. Some friendships and some loves are this way too. They were there when things happened -- things that cannot happen again; or they were a first, a realization or sharing or what no one else will ever know. It is not that one is better for being then or that the other is more for being now. They reside in different realms and each can be sacred.
Labels:
comparison,
differences,
friends,
love,
past,
time
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