This beautiful poem from Anita had me thinking about some of the things I regret.
I always imagined that by the time I grew old, I would have mended all my bridges, and I have tried, but some of them have proved too hard to mend.
Some were impossible, as the recipients had taken their pain to the grave.
Some, I discovered, had long forgiven me. Our bridges were intact, and friendships resumed.
How I wish I hadn’t burned so many bridges over the years. How much simpler would it have been to have said sorry at the time, before it got out of hand? Wisdom does come with age, but maybe it shouldn’t?
Best wishes
Jaye
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