I never cried as much as I did when my bridge to you collapsed.
I never knew a pain so potent and so disparaging existed.
I haven’t lost the pit in my chest yet—you.
Life goes on. That’s the harsh reality.
Life truly, truly goes on.
There are days I begin to forget. Until a dog,
a clover,
a sound,
a joke,
a poem,
a cigarette—oh that formidable cigarette—
reminds me of you.
When I think of you, I try not to think of tears. Of frailty. Of absence.
But of Grace, lovely and fair. Of Beauty, ethereal, elegant.
And I’ve found my way to you: I’ve found my wings.
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