And maybe not.
Let me tell you what I remember - or thought I remembered until you used
that word in your letter:
I remember the mountains and the desert and a lizard with spots. Space. You
didn't begrudge me my freedom because you understood the need, and I left with it wrapped securely around me again. I don't remember any ill-will or any expectations. You
drew me in, soothed me and let me go.
Is that what you remember?