finishing a novel, finishing a friend.

i read stories written so old and i hear in them my heart. there is comfort in jo's passion and her growing wisdom. comfort that this season of alone, though i chose it, will not always be. so funny, that stories can read me so clear. and i wish to part with trust in Goodness. it is over and i remember why it i hold it so close. older now, my lips tremble at the tender troubles of four little women. i know those troubles well, and hope that some do not come quickly to my feet. she said goodbye to her dear friend and found a more humble joy. i too, wish for the sweetness that bestows a woman in love.