holding secrets too tight

nobody told me because nobody really knew it meant something to me.
i read of it and cry, much too long after the fact, too caught up in my personal drama @ the time.
my grandfather took me there during my "old people's project". a whole day of family stories, trekking around carapichaima with him, posing for pictures with my younger (half?)aunt and her cousin(?) on her mother's side (unrelated to me), so cool in my mother's bellbottoms rolled up to show a little leg and white high-top reeboks, the soft caribbean school jersey still in heavy rotation nearly 20years later, sea breeze whipping gently around shins to caress the backs of calves walking across stones way out to the little doorway, 1st wondering why he built so far from shore to do the extra work of bridging but somehow becoming worshipful along the path over the water, the sadhu's story of persistence and not knowing how privileged i was to hear it from the sadhu himself, the small colourful interior of warm deities, never wanting to leave those 2 old men or that place of stories...
i must believe you can go home again.
walk good.