There is a fumbling inside as if part of me lost the car keys and cannot remember where they were put.

This morning, contemplating patience – being in discomfort, waiting for release. How to hold it.

And realizing, subtly that I was holding on to the discomfort – defining myself by a story.

And so when you showed up this afternoon, I was ready to see you. Something has changed. I do not know what. I do not know how deep it goes. I do not know whose it is. And perhaps that is the mystery and truth of it. Neither me nor you, but both.

I know I will sleep better tonight.

The keys can remain lost. It is a car I no longer wish to drive…