In The Drafts: a Quick Meditation on Grief
from my iPhone Notes
We come to know grief as an event horizon, a thin lined horizon, where, after crossing, you remember nothing but the ancient silence of having a loss, which you carry as if it belongs to you, because it does, and will for a very long time, and it becomes a friend, a friend that you can’t defend, a runaway friend and then it subverts itself as it performs its own genre, as it nestles into its own air and becomes everything that everyone else has said it would be because it has to be in order to recognize order, and there must be some order if walking is the goal, but everyone dead has something to say and that thing, that wild and unspoken but needfully true thing that you don’t trust, that you can’t trust is bound to you now, bound to the promise of leaving but only if you look at it, only when you look at it, do you see the grandness of its permanence, the wit of it. I think about you every day. I know I bring the thing upon myself.
