Saturday, March 23, 2013

18 months

When I think of it, I invariably think of you as a toddler.  Your death is in its toddler age.  You were a fabulous toddler.  You were fabulous at every age.  Just not viable at last.  I can't help but relate your beauty to your unsuitability for life. 

I'm listening to your music.  To music you would have listened to.  I miss you so much.  I wish I had someone to talk to about you, but I'm too far gone.  I feel it coming - the unbearable.  "This country of endured, but unendurable pain."  Your words - how could you have known this?  I think you knew I could endure it.  And you couldn't.  We survive every moment but the last.

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