“In fact, I love all repose and all that reposes, all thrift and moderation, and am in my inmost self, unfriendly toward any haste and agitation.”

With time, this will become easier to hold because grief is good to us both. Grief says, I hope summer is kinder because grief knows you deserve kindness. Grief weeps when the world does not give it to you. This kind of love is not out of use. Grief is not a useful thing to begin with and neither am I — so here we are, mourning our whole lives. Let’s marvel at our tenacity. We knew from the start. This did not dissuade us. Something inside you said, Reach for the world and you did. There is nothing to do now but run our hands under cold water. No, I am not sorry either. Sorrow is a promise I make without sense. It sounds like a prayer. It circles my memory.

“Give me your mouth. Your grace is as beautiful as sleep. You move against me like a wave That moves in sleep. Your body spreads across my brain Like a bird filled summer; Not like a body, not like a separate thing. But like a nimbus that hovers Over every other thing in all the world”