The Sting

When tired, when sad, when desperate, I keep remembering myself that between the pages of the books, on screen and in my own mind – there are friends, who wait for me to open the mindgate and let them in.

And that among many people in the world wide web, I found persons whose presence is more than pleasant to have. And who understand me sometimes better than myself.

But some words still sting like a wasp. Maybe because losing friendship is hard, and hardest is to lose a friendship of a mother. Anger, and limitations killing what once was good. Little grave for feelings that once were important. And for memories that hurt more than soothe.

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