To say it back then. To say I love you the few times I actually felt it. And not to just assume my actions, or my smile, spoke for me.
To actually reach out when it was needed, when my dreams told me I should. Someone might be here now, living among us, but I didn’t. Why was I afraid?
It’s been a lifelong challenge, to make sure I’m not so other-focused that I forget myself, my own needs and desires. And not let others determine my choices. It feels both brave, and scary to admit this.
And I guess that is the point.
Musings and Flow 