There is a struggle now to say something meaningful, to crunch every word, memory, question, fear, hope, and lima bean into a golden line which could contain her. But that line has already been spoken, and we cling to the echoes of it, knowing that we too must fade, and go to dust, and that all we are and have is frail beyond belief, even though we walk around like we're immortal.
And because there is no running, no bargain, no science and no prayer that can change this, I will walk straight at it and call it a gift, and hope to meet her in some other place.
And because there is no running, no bargain, no science and no prayer that can change this, I will walk straight at it and call it a gift, and hope to meet her in some other place.
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