In the end, it took realizing that not only did she not want me involved, it never so much as occurred to her that I would want to be involved.
And, sadly, regardless my own view on things and how boggled I am that she could ever think I would not want to be, that must be it.
I say ‘must be’ because the alternative is still too tender to more than nod at from a distance.
She will be 30 this year. I love her and am so very proud of her… I accept that this is the reality that ‘is’ and, in it, things are as they are.
It is a terrible weight and soreness to mind and being, to be candid. The ache does not fit into words, despite that I know I am far from the first in humanity to feel it.
To love is to care more for the happiness of another than oneself. This means doing what must be done to that end, regardless.
I have few regrets in my life, truly; this and but one other – both deep enough and strong enough that I find myself grateful to only have the two… and intermittently fearful that I will yet encounter a third.
Life can be quite sad
Even amidst such beauty
Saudade de voce
(The unintended metaphor of ‘April showers’ is now the title.)