What Loss Is
There is only one thing that works for remembering what love is. That is to hold each other—without hope or demand, without keeping track of what’s taken or given, without any deliberate blindness to the pain. Just holding to feel all of it—the failure, the sweetness, the fear, the need. Holding all of it—the place from where the dark visions come, the place that gives, the place that runs away.
Holding until it is possible to hold without arms, hands, without touching chests. Holding with mere breath—felt across miles, years. Holding with mere being. Everything.
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