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If Only I Could

It came like any other day.

The anniversary of your death passed almost unnoticed. It’s not that I don’t think of you. I often do. Just before I fall asleep, I’ll remember something we saw. Something we shared. And I speak to you then. Do you hear me?

Today I walked an urban landscape. Crossing the street at 4th , I was alone. A single light shone brightly. Too bright for this early hour, I thought. A fine mist wet my cheeks. Was it that? Had you finally come to say hello?

Suddenly, I felt bereft. Tears streaming. I cried like a little girl. It took a voice to stop me. “Spare change?” she whispered.

And with my eyes, I answered her, “Yes.” I wiped away my tears and emptied my wallet. “Right on,” she said. And I smiled for the stranger.

I would give her the strength of the mountains, pup.
If only I could.

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