...and anything could happen

Ahh, Mary.  Is it you who make the tears?  Or is it me?  Or are they made in that horrible holy space between us all, where we fail -- fail to meet; to love; to touch and give; to touch and receive; to let go; to hold on... 

(I want -- just one more time in my life -- for the center of my world to be my nana's chocolate chip cookies.) 

But here the tears gather, in the wet of my own eyes; blame me for them.  Guilt by association.  But I don't want them.  But here they are, more and more. 

And more.  Thank you.