I don't hate anyone. The only people I know well enough to hate, I love.
We lack resolve and blame fate, mistaking the drift for the tides.
Conscience is less an inner voice than the memory of a mother's glance.
As important as shared memories is the silent agreement that certain things never happened.
A nod, a bow, and a tip of the lid to the person who coulda and shoulda and did.
I enjoy many silent moments with my cat, a conversation always resumed exactly where left off.