When the conversation was over I walked her to the elevator, as I had done many nights before, because all who were around weren’t sure she would make it on her own. Hugs, at the elevator followed, professions of undying gratitude. Yet when the tide turned I hadn’t changed. Someone had asked her to change how she looked at me, and she did.And she calls herself a child of her God. And she professes love for everyone.
Yet I have only the blue bottle to remind of the giving person that she had when she wanted.
Sent away somewhat unfairly, Watched as she turned away almost immediately.
Why do I feel like I am the lucky one to be here with the blue bottle? The bottle always was and always will be what it represented itself to be.
It seems some inanimate objects have more character than people do.
−me strauss Letting me be.
