I realized about halfway through our conversation last night–
a real conversation, with real people, in real time,
a rarity nowadays–
that we were not talking about doughnuts anymore.
Nothing about the memories we shared
felt contrived or small,
and more often than not
they hurt us more as we released them.
Miscarriages, deaths, and daily disasters,
along with slights that unsettle only us fragile people,
all of them carried away on a manufactured stream
in a nearby paradise that has always been there.
You may never know 
how important this short walk felt,
but I want the universe to know
that I did what I could do.
And even though past experiences so often become reversed upon us,
we do not need to tinge traditions with tightness in our chests,
even if memories taste better than resolutions,
even if we have not found the right doughtnut yet.