I found the outside and its waiting room scary, and I liked the comfort being next to Dad gave me. His breathing, the beep of the machines, the classical music I played.
It seems to me that the cloak of invisibility worn by those invisibly grieving is no less than a superhero’s cape. While tossing and turning on mourning’s high seas, it can take Herculean strength to simply get out of bed some days. It can take immense strength to acknowledge that one must amp ...
Memories, once snarled, now lay sorted and stacked, their sharp edges softened and beginning to decay. Within these layers, resolutions have emerged.
But she is never coming back, and I fear that if I look in too deep, I will find that only emptiness is left. What crayon is going to color that?
What I want to say is too much, too raw. The thing is, beautiful one, that your signature is one of the more stunning and real and powerful I’ve seen.