and when i think of little things to do with you around my house it hits me on a certain level how i can never speak to you again and be in receipt of your attention which is so attentive and real. and i can never again show you how i cherish you and think you are so talented, gifted and beautiful with a heart of gold.
and it breaks my heart a little more and furrows my brow and makes me understand a little more of pain i have never known before, a pain which expounds the hopeless lack of control we have over death and how it takes us from each other and stops the bubbling vitality and leaves us bereft. and we are left to walk alone or more lonely until it is our time and we will maybe never know where you have gone.
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