"my waking thoughts of you are but extensions of the dream and without you here beside me, i'll never know all that you mean."

some holes never fill. they will always be holes.

went walking a few days ago and it was winter, all of a sudden. in the same way, it is three years, all of a sudden.

each year is a reconfiguring. a new constellation of meaning.
see that precarious balance, the fragile weight, how things cleave to hold on?
surprised at how loss can be so universal and individual at the same time. hoping everyone has someone's love to make them an individual in a crowd.
doesn't matter how many times winter has come, how many lives have ended, how many treasures lost. eventually it is the first missing, the first frost, and a new sensation: cold cold cold.

what does it mean to let go?

loss is the home, the object, of all of my longing.

perhaps I've become predictable in writing this--but only as predictable as death, never more predictable than winter. i hope to meet her in my dreams tonight, to see her eyes regard my face as they did that last time, with love and approval.

ps forgive me for using the same picture. it isn't for lack of suitable pictures. there's just something about this one.