A friend and I were chatting yesterday and suddenly she told me something very personal, something she said almost no one knew about her. It was clearly upsetting to her and strangely, it was an experience I had had as a kid, too. Why, we wondered, was this thing still so painful to us? Why couldn't we leave it behind, what did it have to do with who we were today?
I saw this wall a few weeks ago and stared at it for a long time. You can see the imprint of old chicken wire against the cement, kind of like that persistent thing in our pasts. The chicken wire is long gone but the outline remains. I think what's left is prettier than the original ever could have been. It makes me think that the echoes of old painful experiences may ultimately add a certain beautiful interest, a patina to my friend's life, and--I hope--mine too.
Thank you for sharing. It’s something that direction
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