A little over a week back “home” with my family, and I’ve had a quiet conversation with pain.
She was the kindest person I had ever known.
She could give me little, and I could give even less.
The verbal exchanges (attempts) that we’ve had, in my feeble adult memory, can probably fit into a short novella or maybe just a single A4 page.
She was quiet and wise, and her presence could still fill the whole room.
And it still does.
It followed me out of the hospital room, onto the plane and still fills these photographs.
I thought it would as I took these last photos.
