Ain’t Kids No More

I could listen to this song all day, all night and then some.  Lord I love these girls; their harmonies are like a symphony to the ears, and their songs are so relatable, at least for me.  I’d love to see them in person, but the chances of that happening are between slim and nada.  I have been begging my husband to PLEASE take me to see Mumford and Sons-one of my very favorite bands.  The old excuse was he didn’t want to camp at a festival for three days, which I partially agreed with.  Apparently, they have arrived, but the new excuse is financial practicality.

The feelings of melancholy have had their way with my psyche.  Probably not the best time to cut my Zoloft dosage in half to save a few bucks.  Why, why do I do it and what was I thinking?  I saw a video the other day, a man called Nubreed was preaching about demonic spirits.  I usually love his stuff, he is a righteous dude, but the subject of depression/anxiety/mental health issues being demonic possession is a pretty, pretty, pretty loathsome one for me, for the obvious reasons.  These videos are about as joyful to watch as the ones about pagan holidays, and why we must ban Christmas, Easter and every other beloved tradition known to humanity.

I mean, haven’t these dark forces taken enough from us already?  Good grief!  I’ll be the first one to tell you that, as far as I know, you will not go to hell for going to Christmas Eve mass.  Pretty sure, just don’t quote me on that.  I am not a pastor and I have no intention of having people’s souls in my hands.  Just making an observation.

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Don’t even get me started.

I can tell you, I am 99.9% sure that I do not have a demon within.  Rid myself of them years ago, and I do my best to put on the full armor of God.  Am I a sinner?  Yes.  Does Jesus love me anyway?

Yes, Yes, Yes!!!

So, we had a lovely fall day together-me, my husband and the pooch.  I repotted a gimongous succulent, and we considered picking our pumpkins from our patch, but I wanted to watch them grow for a few more days.  I know, and yes, I am as ridiculous as I sound.

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My precious niece, Esme Elkins

And yes, she does take after her Aunt Michele, God bless her.

So, if you are new to my blog, I must preface this story by telling you that I have lived across the street from the monster in law for the past 30 years.  The first words she ever spoke to me were to say that Dwain was still in love with his ex wife.  Thins went downhill after that.  I don’t want to overuse the words, but if ever there was a narcissist?  It would be Miriam Hoffman.  I’m just beginning to believe that she may not, after all, be the anti-Christ-but God knows she’s something.  Something else, as in, eleventy hundred on a scale of 10.

For years and years I thought it was me.  Au contraire mon amies!  You see, I didn’t know what a narc was three years ago; and it was quite the nausea inducing surprise to find out that I was surrounded by them.  I own my crap when it comes to my codependency-a child of an alcoholic, and emotionally abused for a time by my mother.  Mom wasn’t a narc, not even close.  I now know that her empathy and love for us would have made that misnomer impossible.

My monster has ignored, belittled, aggravated and gossiped about me since the day I married her son.  How do I know?  My friends would tell me, my husband would tell me for crying out loud.  As the years went on, she knowingly and with malice put me through freaking hell to the point I thought I’d commit Hare Kari.

And then?  It happened.

I always knew that there would come a day when she slipped her mask, reaped what she had sown.  I just didn’t know how forcefully things would proceed-I had no way of knowing that God would take a church service to put it to her good, but that’s exactly what he did.

I must have been really stoned when I had the idea that, yes, why don’t we join Dwain’s parents at their church.  Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise, a loving gesture?  Unfortunately, we liked what we saw and began attending their church regularly.  One day I decided to wear my brand new, vintage Kentucky Derby hat-polka dots and all.  Dwain had just bought it for me, and I was tickled to find a dress that matched fashionably.

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I don’t wear hats to church to show off, nor do I want the attention of others.  While I can’t say that has been true my entire life-you know.  I wear them to honor my mother, who looked like Audrey Hepburn, even on a bad day.  As we entered the church, Dwain’s parents were greeting.  I told his mother of the gift I was wearing, don’t ask me why.  God forbid I have an enthusiastic moment, for crying out loud.

It wasn’t until a few moments later, when I mentioned my animosity towards Bud’s girlfriend, that she snapped.

That’s not something you say in church!  That’s not something you say in CHURCH!!!

Coming from a woman who openly mocked an autistic child during last year’s children’s choir Christmas pageant.  A woman who said,

I know where I’m going.

when approached by an out of her mind with grief daughter in law.

Nough said.  The next day I happened to be down at her coven.  She gets this snarky look on her face, but still, I don’t see it coming.

You looked nice yesterday.  I could have done without the hat.

Well, that was the icing on the cupcake.  I have never been spoken to by such a viper, and I’ve had some vipers, let me tell you, in my life.

And so it was, when Dwain informed his mother that I would not be attending tomorrow’s “birthday celebration.”

“What did she say,?” I wondered out loud.

She’ll just have to change, honey.  She has to change.

And my heart broke just a little bit, when I saw the sadness in his face.

I thought there would be joy on the day of reckoning.  No joy, it comes at the cost of my beloved~

 

 

Imbecile Wind

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Please proceed with caution.  I am triggered and that means there’s a good chance you may be too, so…don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I was wondering when the dam would break.  Just yesterday I was marveling at the fact that I am not, in fact, in a mental institution after the stress of the past two years.  I say this entirely serious-as a heart attack.  If I had known what lay ahead?  Let’s just say it’s amazing what Jesus can do for one’s health.  Amen!

I have always cared, a bit too much, for people who don’t give a flying fig about me.  It’s my nature to love, and in fact, I find it close to impossible to say anything that would hurt someone else’s feelings.  I cannot stand for bullies, and I just can’t stomach malice.  There is an exception to every rule, and today has been coming for a very long time.

I have always had a cause or two, animals, battered or abused women and children, banning Sharia Law from this country…LGBT rights.  When it came to the real news?  I had not a clue, as I was busy living my life self centeredly; it’s what addicts do best.

Biden, Pence, G.W., Obama, Clinton and their wives were given an envelope. It wasn’t good news.

Here’s the thing.  I woke up in 2015, when working for a client who listened to Rush Limbaugh at volume ear bleed on his Bose.  Religiously.  I was a Democrat at the time and a feisty one at that.  As the days and weeks went by, I learned horrifying details of what Barry Santero and Michael Richards were doing.  I would yell out loud, and ask John, an 85 year old Italian, who had an opinion,  about everything, what in the Harry Belafonte was GOING ON?

“This can’t be, they’re ruining the country.”

“I think he’s the antichrist.”

“Yep, it’s deliberate.  He’s a muslim.”

I conservatized my butt then and there, on the spot.

“Why do you hate that guy?”

I didn’t want to step on any toes, but I began trying to get the word out to my friends and family.

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Here they are, yup, they’re all there! My nearest and dearest…

My situation changed, and I could no longer work due to my PTSD.  Praise God we won my disability case, as to this day I can’t commit to a haircut, let alone job.  The Lyme disease reared its putrid head around this time-I had long days of resting, and I took to the Truther ropes with relative ease.

At first it was Alex Jones, who ended up being a bad actor.  To this day I am unsure of the real truth about some of his theories-he is paid disinformation, don’t forget.  I slowly found my way, with Jesus’ steadfast love and encouragement.  What I learned I can’t unlearn.  And yes, there are days when I wish I could-my life is now pre and post red pill.  I get teary watching certain shows, dreamily thinking of the days when we took life at face value.  When women weren’t men, and presidents didn’t cause race wars, or fund the terrorist militias, or murder innocent children.

That absurd bill for hotdogs that you and I paid for?  It was code.  Code for prepubescent boys.  And yes, Pedogate is real-as real as it gets.  Did I want this information?  NO!!!!  Yet the combination of my dread of being snuck up on and my drive for the truth (it may be a hard pill to swallow, but it will set you free) set me on a three year journey of unpleasantries, life changing belief systems and absolute night terrors.

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At each and every opportunity, I gently tried to tell the people around me the truth.  It took my husband two years, two years to realize I knew a lot more than him-he did the research himself and came to his own conclusion.  But the years of “Oh honey, you’re hilarious” took its toll on me.

What do you think it does to a person’s soul when no one around them believes one word that comes from their lips?  I can answer that, it ain’t pretty.  And so it was that I phoned my acquaintance Bea today, upon her request, with news of Mike Pence.

I’m really sorry, but it doesn’t look…”

I don’t believe you!!

That moment I felt something growing within; a rage and fury I had yet to know, and it rises again in the retelling.  Who are you going to believe, your friend of ten years of the MSM?  What on God’s green earth would be my motive to lie?  Please, by all means, shed some light on the situation.

I don’t claim to know about the economy, or the plight of today’s farmers; but what I know for certain (that’s what research does folks, it enlightens one) I share.  I don’t go out into the Twilight Zone blindly nor naively.  I had to learn the hard way whom to trust, and how to get at the truth-I have sources with high military intelligence clearances.  John F. Kennedy, Jr. follows me on Twitter-along with some two thousand other people who just happen to assume I have half a brain-and a good one at that.

From this day hence, I shall banish these people from mine kingdom.

If your first name starts with STUPID?  You’re shit out of luck.

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I Need You Now

 

I have a condition, it’s called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Under control about 95% of the time, it never fails to shock me, to shake my foundation-when I am triggered?  I fall completely apart.  The answer doesn’t lie in what triggered me at any particular moment in time.  No, the answer is letting go and letting God.

But what if you are angry with Abba at that moment in time?  Will He hear you?  Will he even give you an ear?  I used to think that if I pissed my Lord and Savior off, (the unhinged, unabridged, unadulterated meltdown comes with the caveat:

Great, now you’ve done it.  Who’s going to listen to you now?  Who will come to your aid when you call out in dire need?  Who will rock you to sleep with His own special lullaby, one that eases every crevice of your heart, one that puts you to sleep as if an army of angels lay at your feet?

The answer, as you well know, is Jesus.  Abba.  The Son of Man.  Prince of Peace, Alpha and Omega.  There is nothing, nothing on this planet, that can steal God’s love from you.  You are His beholden, His beloved child.  If you can’t cry out to God whilst in heavy duty emotional pain, well then, who?

We are in the middle of a storm, one that is blasting us with up to 65 mph winds.  I am contrary by nature-just tell me that I cannot do something and you can rest assured that is the exact thing I will yearn to do.  Hiking is out, so Fido (my nickname for my golden retriever, Jesse) and I are left to our own devices.  I have sinus issues due to a deviated septum.  Remind me to tell you that story, holy crap on a cracker it’s a good one!  Of course, I ended up with a bloody, broken nose and a lawsuit-the perp?  My best friend and roommate, Lisa Walling.  I digress….back to my angst.

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What drove me to put my head back and scream like a child?  Many things, actually.  It never ceases to amaze me, the strength God has given me for a time such as this:  I am a rock most days, because of His mercy and grace.

I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.

For the last year and a half, I have fought the good fight-at least when it comes to the Great Awakening.  I have researched subjects such as Child Trafficking, The Deep State Cabal, Satanic Ritual Abuse, the dozens of attempts on President Trump’s life-and as I watched the latest video from The Patriot Hour (love that man, go check him out, tell him I sent you) explaining Nancy Pelosi’s latest attempt at foiling The Donald.  Her mission?  To assassinate the President and Vice President-making her the first female president, and God help me, who wants THAT?

The story goes that she took 93 of her closest friends, family and politicians with her on a commercial flight to Afghanistan, among other destinations.  The unmitigated nerve of that woman-to once again try to put it on our tab-she is known for spending thousands and thousands of tax payer dollars on booze.  She is unfathomably rich, and on a government salary-it makes you wonder.  Just take a look at her district, but fair warning, you may become physically ill, or perhaps fall into a blind rage, as I just did, in my laundry room.

So, as I said, it surprises me that I can research evil incarnate, but my dog barking to go out for the thirteenth time in an hour (he does it for treats) in the midst of an almost-hurricane?  Well, that had me squealing like a hogtied pig.

“Arggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And of course, after screaming at my dog (never, ever have I done that) I broke down into hysterics; ranting and raving, then begging His forgiveness.  I sat down with my pooch and apologized, over and over again.  He kissed my tears away, sat beside me on the couch, as if to say-it’s okay mom, I get it, I really, really do.

I sat down and pondered my throbbing headache, urge to pound sand and other messy, complicated feelings.  Lord, where is this coming from?

And He answered me, and quickly at that.

This Border Wall argument has nothing to do with illegals, or even a border wall…bare with me.  The elite of this world are vampires, who suck the blood out of innocent, traumatized children for adrenochrome.  I have seen evidence of this.  If the country closes its doors to illegal aliens, then where will the Cabal get their blood?  Illegals are easy to target, we have no record of them-when they go missing?  No one but their families know-and how can they prove what happened to their beloved son, daughter, brother, sister, friend?

With acoustic astronomy, scientists are able to observe and listen to the sounds and vibrations of space.  They have found that stars don’t orbit in silence, but rather generate music in the mysterious night sky.  Like humpback whale sounds, the resonance of stars exist at wavelengths or frequencies that may not be heard by the human ears.  Yet, this music, combined with that of the whales and other creatures create a symphony that proclaims the greatness of God.

Now, a question for you.  Who will you turn to when the laughter abets, the tide turns to red, or the evil permeates the air you breathe?

As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

 

 

 

Calmed and Broken

Every once in awhile, I think Jesus likes to remind me of something:  I am not of this world, meaning I don’t fit in and have no intention of changing one thing about myself.  I have never fit in, but today the point was driven home in a cruel and devastating way.  It may be the enemy in attack mode, but I am a work in progress, and I am God’s work in progress.

I don’t want anyone to think I pity myself, as I find that a very undesirable character trait.  Spend enough time with the narcissist population and trust me, you’ll feel the same way.   However, I will say that I was pushed to my very limit this afternoon, resulting in a public display of rage and a headache at volume eleventy.  The following story may sound shocking to you, but I have learned to expect the ludicrous, as apparently that is my cross to bear in this dimension.

I came here from the Philadelphia area, to Lancaster County-by all appearances the quaintest of the quaint.  Loads of history, horse and buggies everywhere (I never tire of it) and a few of the finest restaurants around.  Beautiful countryside, small town charm, the whole shebang.

There is something disturbing about these people.  Not all, I have met some very lovely people and you know what?  They are almost always from somewhere else.  Living on the Main Line was different for me-I had many close friendships.  I didn’t realize how very accepting these fine people were, until I entered the Twilight Zone that is this one horse town.

I don’t keep up with the Joneses.  I keep to myself, unawares of what other folks are thinking.  I go to the grocery store without  makeup, usually with my stained hiking clothes.  Not a touch of makeup.  My long hair tied in a knot, lucky if my socks match to be frank.  This isn’t to say that I don’t clean up pretty, but when I do?  Vintage clothing, the more unique, the better.  My mother was a fashion plate, but when it came to me?  Let’s just say she liked to experiment.

I remember the first day of seventh grade, because mom made me wear velvet purple knickers, matching shirt and white lace up boots.  The kids were vicious, the taunting and pointing went on all day.  It didn’t bother me as I had become accustomed to children taunting me, as they did in elementary school-simply because I did not conform.  I was my own person, never a follower of anyone else.

I am helping out a close friend, he is dying of cancer.  For the second time in a week I was a hot mess in mucks.  I entered the house to a very angry man.  He told me he had just told his wife and son that he didn’t care what they thought, he wanted me to help him.  The narrative goes back and forth between everything’s groovy to his wife hates my guts.

“Now what?,” I asked.

The other day while in the grocery store, making conversation, I told the cashier I was helping out with Scott.  Apparently, she ran with this information (wow, scandalous I know) to Scott’s mother in law, who immediately phoned her daughter.

“She’s mad because her mother told her that you were in Dutch Way, bragging about how you’re taking care of me.  I just screamed at her and told her I didn’t care that she thought you were crazy, I wanted you around, period.”

“Can you please go back to the ‘crazy’ part?,” I stammered.

“You know, your hair isn’t perfect, everyone thinks you’re crazy.  Not many people in this town like you, who cares?”

I left the house enraged.  Truly enraged.  I drove to Dutch Way at eighty miles an hour, peeled into the parking lot, barely stopped the car before getting out.  I stormed in and asked for Cindy, the cashier, who had left earlier.  I then asked for the manager, and was directed toward the office.  My friend Lu Anne stood there, looking at me with anticipation.  I told her what happened.   I was shaking and livid.

“I want her job.  I want her job.  She is FUCKED!!!,” I screamed.

I felt their eyes burning holes through my backside.

I drove home, hugged my pooch, cried in the shower.

Children of God need to realize that they will be persecuted, rejected and even shunned because the “worldly” don’t understand us, they despise us because we frighten them.  They are broken people who’ve never truly known Christ in their heart.

I pity them.

 

 

 

There Was a Formula

My freakishly large head is spinning, I am reticent to say this-you know, like when you state out loud that your  marriage is better than it’s ever been, and then you have the worst fight ever; so I’ll just put this out there:  the last few days of my life have been, for lack of a better word-perfect.

My idea of perfection is one of very simple values.  My faith and Jesus come first, and I cling to His robes each and every day.  After that?  The health and emotional welfare of my husband, my dog and myself.  I married a man I am still crushing on, and he is my best friend.  I am sober, my depression is lifting as we head towards Fall. My flower beds are bursting with Zinnias, roses, butterfly bushes and bubble gum pink petunias.  We like our new place of worship, and the pastor is red pilling my husband.  Bliss.   I have a Lord and Savior who loves me, passionately, as He loves you.

There is no fear nor condemnation in Christ.

I was reading out of the book of Proverbs just now

I see a change in the direction of my writing.   The focus  will be the same: Christ-centered, authentic and sassy-it’s the way I roll, so thank you all for reading my musings! It is my constant prayer that they will reach the eyes that bleed for comfort and community. Here goes nothing!

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

The really important things in life can’t be said, only shown.
– Ludwig Wittgenstein

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A while back I wrote about a friend from church who had told me God spoke to her in the early morning hours, about me, about my loneliness-as she was going down her prayer list. Unable to sleep, Lisa grabbed her Holy Bible, and asked the Holy Spirit to guide her in prayer. When she came to my name, the message was loud and clear:

She will have beautiful and meaningful relationships. She went on to try to explain just how much of a blessing this would be, but she cried with me instead.

I think of her and that moment often, even daily. Over the past few years, I have traded my sob story for one of real and true joy and reconciliation. Sadly, some of the changes did not suit a few of the people I had been holding on to; long after I knew that there was little left to grasp.

SCRIPTURE OF THIS GLORIOUS DAY

Kind people do themselves a favor, but cruel people bring trouble on themselves. -Proverbs 11:17 NCV

I quietly walked away from those who knew me as my former self. The friends who knew me to be a people pleasing, bleeding heart doormat-who allowed herself to be treated very poorly. I cannot stress the importance of one of the keys to happiness: you’ve heard this a million, zillion times before, but if you don’t love yourselfit will be impossible to gain the respect and love of others.

Although I have decided to keep the posts about Narcissistic Abuse and Complicated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to the bare minimum (I have seen professionals who suffered at the hands of a narcissist make careers out of helping other survive the phenomena. While I respect the hell out of these people, I can not, will not allow this family tragedy define who I am. In order to survive, I am putting the past where it belongs. At the moment, the California fires are raging: these are not the usual forest fire-and they are headed oh so steadily towards my brother and his family. I have no way of knowing if they are okay. I have no way of knowing if ANY of my family is okay; so I will let go and let God.

However, there is so much to be said for sticking to your guns-not allowing others to control the narrative. Guard your heart, that’s what the Lord says-and in doing so I have emerged as if a Phoenix rising: finally able to be myself. No peanut gallery comments, such as:

After years of struggling with alcoholism and depression:

“Are you on the right medication? I think you may be Bipolar.”

After hosting mon frère for lunch (last time we spoke, in August)

“Quite sure you suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder. Have a great weekend.” Sent via email. And after telling my estranged sister not to bother showing up at my funeral:

“You fucked up Michele. YOU FUCKED UP.” This, by the way, from my “best” friend who almost killed my cat while we were in upstate NY last year on vacation.

SONG OF THE DAY

Oh, Happy National Dog Day, by the by.

My sweet boy.  Jesse Bocephus Happy Hoffmananoff.  Stay 6!

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Ringing The Bell

Now that I finally have the time to sit and write what has been on my head and heart?  I find myself at a loss for words.  Earlier today, I felt the Holy Spirit tug at my heart.  After convincing myself that a few of the YouTube channels I frequent had to go?  I had to admit, the honing of my discernment is pleasing to my soul.  What people just don’t understand?  We are told by God (it’s in the bible, in many a scripture) to be seekers of the truth.

The truth.

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Again, it would be swell if WordPress could make my inserts just a TAD smaller.

Okay, zoom this picture as high as you can without distortion.  The person in the very back, with the watch?  That is John F. Kennedy, Jr. himself.  He is alive.  It isn’t a conspiracy theory gone wild, it isn’t a lie, and it isn’t fake news.

JFK, Jr. walks amongst the living.  He has two children, a daughter and a son.  He is the master of disguise, having learned makeup in the Drama department of an Ivy League School.  He shows up in the strangest places, and I laugh each and every time I miss the clue, and then it’s obvious when someone points it out.

John F. Kennedy, Jr. will be running for Vice President in the coming election.  I’d bet good money on this, and the only question is when.  When will he show his gorgeous mug?

There is a battle, a Spiritual battle that is being fought on the frontlines of the Donald J. Trump administration.  Pedophiles and human traffickers are being arrested in droves, more than at any time in presidential history.  That makes sense, as the last four presidents were needy baby, greedy babies.  Demons, if you will.  They sent our men and women to wars that had no reasoning, simply for profit.  They were in the penthouse suites, toasting with the Dom, cheering each other on.

“We fooled ’em again!  We took their kids, their livings, their hope!  Hail satan!!!”

That’s right.  Can you smell what I am stepping in?

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But God had more He wanted to show me.  I see how many people are falling for the change in narrative, the subtle whispering that Trump is not winning, that he is to blame for the last two mass shootings (Cabal initiated) or that anything but good things are happening.

There is no room for fear, God anointed Trump for this very time in biblical history.

The epic era in which one third of this world will be eradicated from planet earth.

All evil will come to light.

And then I did my Bible dip and came upon my favorite book, 2 Corinthians.

Finally, brethren, farewell.  Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you.

Greet one another will an holy kiss.  All the saints salute you!

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost be with you.

Be still, and know that He is God.

Farewell My Friend, Farewell

This tops any list I may have previously held for myself, in terms of the most painful things I have had to write.  I don’t want to write, but I know deep down, that if I don’t-I will free fall into the dark recesses of my depression.  God knows how badly I want that never to happen again.

I met John eight years ago, when I worked at their family owned kennel.  My husband grew up with him, but I knew very little; only that he had suffered from the same oral cancer as my brother in law.  I knew he was in remission, but his wife worried constantly about his health.  What began as straight out intimidation soon turned to a quiet fondness of his gentle spirit and obvious physical strength.   I could talk to John, be myself, content in the knowledge that he felt the same way.  It wasn’t long before our relationship was misconstrued.  We didn’t speak for two entire years.

When we did rekindle our friendship, it was with the knowledge that his cancer had returned, and he didn’t want treatment.  I spoke with his wife on several occasions, stopping at the kennel to offer support.

If you asked either one of us, we would not be able to explain our bond; yet it is that of a brother and sister.  No boundaries were ever broken, not even a kiss on the cheek.

I hadn’t stopped in for weeks, and my guilt was getting the better of me.  I was also terrified, out of my mind.  Over the weekend, I told him I would visit today; not realizing he had taken a turn of the very worst kind.  As I pulled into the driveway, I caught a glimpse of him on the deck.  My heart smashed to pieces, and before I had a chance to think, John whisked me away in his golf cart.

“I want to talk, let’s go for a ride,” he said.

I argued about him driving, he shushed me away.  I was concerned with the dog, worried he wouldn’t turn the bend and find us.  He pointed toward the weeping cherry he had planted as a reminder of his place on this earth.  I was here.  I mean the world to you, and I will always, always love you.  Don’t, oh please, don’t forget your time with me.

It was explained in so many heartbreaking words that I wasn’t exactly welcome around the house.  I was shell shocked.  I thought we had worked through this and I couldn’t have felt more betrayed or misunderstood.  But I couldn’t begin to imagine her pain-if I was grieving, I couldn’t imagine how she must feel.  I gasped for air, shifted in my seat.  I began talking and stopped, it was his illness, not mine.

We sat under the apple tree and wept, for what appeared to be hours, but was only moments in time.

“I know you understand, you have to go now.”

I understood,  and said farewell.

Farewell is not goodbye.