explaining

It made me happy seeing him Saturday. I almost felt like I was meeting someone new. He spoke so well and talked through the rationing of his mind, that he had so obviously been doing since I had seen him last. I let him speak and let us laugh—despite the level of meaning that was involved in our discourse. We spoke candidly—with excitement. It made me happy to see him Saturday. It was such a pleasure listening to him and the fact that he wanted to speak made me want to hear every word even more. Such moments are rare. I cherish them. They make me happy with and for others.

How can I explain myself? One cannot. I have a lifetime worth of mindful material to work with but I cannot write forever. And if I could and would what will happen when I have died? Will someone continue explaining myself then? Oh I cannot possibly trust such happenings. I cannot explain…