I know that the space between giving space and giving up is narrow but deep; I wish that it wasn’t also filled with water I must tread while wearing emotional lead boots.
I know that the disease steals more of you with every passing minute; I wish that I wasn’t so selfish in my reaction to the pain.
I know that our friendship is over; I wish I cared more about it ending than getting the last word.
I know that fidelity has never been high on your list of relationship priorities; I wish that you would stop making me complicit in the process.
I know that spending too much time on my high horse is a character flaw; I wish I didn’t like the view from there so much.
I know that it would be the height of irresponsibility and selfishness, but I wish that the fantasy of running away from this life didn’t hold quite so much appeal.
I know that intellectual and emotional reactions must be measured for appropriate response to stimuli; I wish that past prejudices didn’t have a thumb on the scale.
I know that choosing my battles is a sign of maturity; I wish that I didn’t use that as an excuse so often.
I know that grief, loss, and recovery all have stages; I wish that acknowledging them would make them go faster.