Chasing “what might have been” is like chasing a ghost seen only as a secondary flicker out of the corner of the eye. Such mental consternation is much to do about nothing, as done cannot be undone. What’s behind is cast in rock that only weighs one down. G.W.
Since fragile flesh could never bear
Such passion or such grief,
She willed her heart to stone
And, this accomplished, found relief.
Only in dreams she turns and cries,
Tears on her face like frost,
And waking does not even know
She weeps; nor what is lost.
“Metamorphosis” by Ruth Gilbert