I remember when I left you.
Both of us, angry, frustrated.
Neither of us at fault.

I went away to college.
You stayed.
You stayed.

Four years with few words.
Then six more with fewer.
Still more years.

You understood why.
You were unselfish.
I was not.

One day I called you.
Your tone of voice: shattered.
I listened intently.

We reconnected.
Had lunch.
Laughed.

We traveled overseas together,
During winter.
Re-connected.

You returned home.
Fell ill — again.
Passed on.

Still on the road.