Who are you?

Walking along the unbeaten path
kicking stones
and admiring the clouds
I feel your hand in mine
And I look to my left...

and realize suddenly
I'm not holding anyone's hand

It was a dream again

When did you stop holding my hand?
When did you decide that
another place
person
thing
was prettier
or, in your case,
more convenient?

How did I not know
you were gone?

My mother
called me a Pollyanna,
always seeing the good in people
when I should be looking out
for the bad.

In all people,
there is good.
It is the hunger,
sometimes overwhelming
that makes them behave
poorly.

But there are days
when I finally have to realize
that you are more comfortable
in the dark
and I stop trying
and turn my eyes to
the flowers
the rivers
the birds
 and the bees...
and when I have found myself again

I turn and look
and realize
I'm walking alone.
Again.

Pollyanna tells me
Try again.

love, Cindy