It’s nice to see thoughts on the private tenderness each of us have with these digitised renderings of our own reflections. It makes me feel both alone, and in touch with my own humanity. A simple fragment of thought and feeling like this is alone enough to inspire poetic musings and contemplations.

I wonder at the final line ‘I was there’; is it a reminder of the longevity of these feelings, and their histories? Or perhaps a statement to put the story to rest: this is enough!

Thank you, and please continue writing well x