This rag-tag life, this giving up, this checking out. Is this me?
For seven years, I've said Yes. It has been my lifeline. Maybe that's how long grief lives.
I take another sip of wine. I know better--know grief lasts a lifetime, takes on its different shades the way copper grows its green patina, the way an iron railing rusts. It becomes a part of you. I have this grief and I have this hunger for light and a fear of the dark and so I'm sitting at a table quite close to the end of the world, unless you count Antarctica, and I'm asking myself dangerous questions.
And the light and the water blur into one big pool of sky and here. I'm just lonely. That's all.