In These Lines From Time to Time

I do remember the story you sent me.

In fact, this story has become part of my own. The story of me and how I've grown to be me and continue to try to be a better me even though I fall flat on my face most of the time by tripping over my own shoelaces I refused to tie just because someone else suggested I lace them up. The memory of you sitting in Anderson House while we workshopped this story and I was already forming a kinship with you in my head, just as an artist, as a fellow traveler who'd visited some of the same strange and dangerous lands, that's one of the memories that sticks with me and plays in my mind whenever I call for it.

I shared it with her once. Not so much the details of your story or your poem with the same title, but the recognition of a sister, a soul mate, and how once you found one in this world, she would always be a part of you.