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.