We are created by being destroyed.
Its hard for me to grasp that I might somehow be my fathers equal in any way.
I basked in you; I loved you, helplessly, with a boundless tongue-tied love. And death doesn't prevent me from loving you. Besides, in my opinion you aren't dead. (I know dead people, and you are not dead.)
I wish my father could be around.
literature will lose, sunlight will win, don't worry.
The humiliation I go through/when I think of my past/can only be described as grace./We are created by being destroyed.