What shall we say then when that joy takes wing and flies across that river? I would love to sit down and discuss in detail the grief that fills me when I consider the memories – oh so many of them – that bring me pain even now as I take them out and rearrange in order to find some modicum of peace. But will you break away from all your flittering and fluttering and come down from your treehouse on high in order to speak to me, your dear and oldest friend? I do not lay claim to your emotions or your heart for God knows you’ve given them elsewhere by this point. I just want to talk, that’s all. But perhaps if we do meet up for a coffee somewhere nice and neutral then just perhaps it won’t be good for you. Perhaps it will just be too much pain unearthed and for what purpose? To satisfy my own weary soul? You’re right – it is for the best that we not talk again. A sigh escapes my lips. I’ll write a dialogue between us all the same and let my imagination provide what I need. Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the best lines. Just like always.