death
on love |the messy sort that endures all
Mark, I wonder if I’ll ever forget that moment. That phone call. That evening, sitting by the pool at my parent’s house, talking about American Beauty, interrupted. Life, interrupted. I had only spent days with
“if we don’t feel the death, do we feel the resurrection?”
Life’s been hell these last several months, turned up-side-down as they say, whoever they are — although heart-inside-out-and-shred-like-spaghetti might be more like it. I know this might seem melodramatic to you who read the more