Apotheca

We heal one another. We do it invisibly, and often. And mostly without even knowing it. How many times has this happened, over the course of a life? How often have I healed something in you with a look, a quiet word, a gesture in response to a situation completely unlike yet somehow perfectly parallel to yours?

I keep track of the times you’ve healed me. I keep a list of the ailments you’ve cured. The answers you’ve provided. The ways out I never could have devised.

What if all it takes is passing in front of a house, late at night, when its curtains are drawn tightly against the world? What if, in walking past, a sound occurs in the heart of the walker that only the person inside can hear, and the person inside finds herself realizing that all is forgiven?

It was a hunch. Something just came over me. I don’t know where the thought came from.

Was it? Did it? Don’t you?