sometimes it knocks me back, the way sorrow seems to cleave my beloveds into halves or splinter you into a thousand fragments of grief, raw betrayal. and i scrabble to help you breathe in the middle of this, and i’m no good.
still: i love you.
i see you.
and i see its unfair and everything that was sturdy has slid through your fingers like dust and the axis has been yanked from the spine of the earth so that life bleeds and crashes and the view is tarred sticky with despair and the most unfair and beautiful thing of all is this: God on a cross, dying to redeem even here. even you.