To hum meditations into my own soul, let it ferment and settle in chakras and balance, to let it grow like Bodhi tree, thats my love now. I wrote prayers for you on religious holidays. Loved you even on the Sabbath. And I still lost you. You preferred not having me. But I regret nothing that has been part of this exchange. I learned from you. From loving you. There was a friction between us, like the line between yin and yang but we were neither. I lived in depression too long, used it to excuse my behavior for too long. I loved you in poetry and speech but in action, in action I couldn’t do much. And now I write prayers for myself. For my own soul and mind. I’ve found tranquility because in losing you I was forced to find myself. Its been 11 months and I still have dreams of our memories, I used to lament on the past and now, now I’m experiencing the present. Not excited for the future but for the present. For the now. I am loving me for me and growing with my own poetry. I write to me now, even on the Sabbath, on holy days, on all days. I write to free myself from the love I gave/give to others. From the restrictions and burdens of loving others. Im learning through me, to be me again. These meditations are as much of me as you were. But I have planted seeds that will never wither or be struck down when they grow. I’ve learned to be smart with my cultivation.