When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

By Christina Rossetti

I read her initials in the book she gave me and I wonder. Why me? What was so interesting about me 3 years ago at that conference that she remembered? I was in the lowest of the lows back then. I remember talking with her, and I found her inspiring and I wished I could date her but I was sure she wasn’t interested. I have to say, she made me realize that maybe there is some value in here, that maybe there is a point to all of this. I remember talking with her, about her work and I even mentioned how I’d like her advice, but then I got afraid and left. It was a sad day, as always back then. But I still don’t know why me and now I feel like an impostor. I’ll go with it, but it feels strange. I’ll see. It will be good to spend time with you, R.