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...for April

Strange, how in her quiet manner she comforted me-- and yet, how disquieting... Perhaps I am too wary, too close yet to what has been-- but-- dare I try again? I think not. For it is hard to travel a path one has done before, knowing full well where it leads-- to a crossroad, where I must take one path, and, invariably, she another... Many times I have reached this junction; each time choosing a different path than before, thinking this is the one... But, somehow, we chose different paths-- and she would depart, bitter, hurt, withdrawn-- I have learned to accept the pain of departure; and not to seek a companion
for life's winding path... Instead, I welcome what friendship may come my way, and rejoice in memory that it was, once it has gone-- for, at least the fact of what was can never depart... I would cherish, and never ask--for it is better that one be lonely than two be hurt... Yet, I am disquieted, uneasy, for she has brought peace, and I, her: Without love, companionship is but an empty dream; its pursuit futility-- hurting the one receiving, leaving the giver more alone than ever... Can I give love? I know not-- Yet, one must learn by history or be doomed to repeat its mistakes-- --dare I try again? November 11, 1974

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