Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
It's such a colossal effort not to be haunted by what's lost, but to be enchanted by what was.
I don't know how the heart withstands it.
But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
When I'm with him, there is someone with me in my house of grief, someone who knows its architecture as I do, who can walk with me, from room to sorrowful room, making the whole rambling structure of wind and emptiness not quite as scary, as lonely as it was before.
I suddenly feel left out of a future that isn't even going to happen.