My sunflower.
Dear friend, you have been so good at getting me up the hill. You are a sunflower waiting for me at the top. In the depths of our hearts are lights that lead us to what is important to us. We change, all people change, and we forget to tell each other. I am not so lost from you yet that I don’t think I occasionally land on your mind. Nor do I think I have faded away from your present life so much that I would be never known to you again. Seems we learn so little and forget so much; maybe we forget because we must and not because we will. I wish, perhaps, that we might be less vulnerable to our current lives, and that bonds might be more permanent. Don’t fade far away. You are among a friend you’ve never known.
Let’s trim the hedges that separate our yards. We were singled out and set apart from others for a special purpose.
If we take away the simplest ingredient or change the combination of our mixture, we may completely remove ourselves from the party.
I regard your individual existence. I respect and rejoice your unity but am saddened by the spacious separation from the nave and aisles by a lofty carved wooden screen door from which I can see your modern monuments but only from afar.
I won’t dwell on this because bees are sometimes drowned in the honey which they collect. If we are not careful, something that had once been, something delicate, wild and far away can be shut out behind the doors of yesterday, lost beyond the hill I climb when I try to see my sunflower.
