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i.love.you.

Grief remains one of the few things that has the power to silence us.
It is a whisper in the world and a clamor within.

More than sex, more then faith, even more than it's usher death,
grief is unspoken, publicy ignored except for those few moments at
the funeral that are over too quickly, or the conversations among the
cognoscenti, those of us who recognize in one another a kindred chasm
deep in the center of who we are.

Maybe we do not speak of it because death will mark all of us, sooner
or later.

Or maybe it is unspoken because grief is only the first part of it.

After a time it becomes something less sharp but larger too,
a more enduring thing called loss.

Perhaps that is why this is the least explored passage:
because it has no end.

The world loves closure, loves a thing that can, as they say, be
gotten through.

That is why it comes as a great surprise to find that loss is
forever, that two decades after the event there are those occasions
when something in you cries out at the continual presence of the
absence.

~Anna Quindlen


I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
I want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

~ee cummings