It Wasn't Right. He Knew

Away From The Bright Motion Of The Party, She Carried Her Sadness Like A Dark Stone Clenched In Her Palm.

He Carried Paul Inside And Up The Stairs. He Gave Him A Drink Of Water And The Orange Chewable Aspirin He Like And Sat With Him On The Bed, Holding His Hand...this Was What He Yearned To Capture On Film: These Rare Moments Where The World Seemed Unified, Coherent, Everything Contained In A Single Fleeting Image. A Spareness That Held Beauty And Hope And Motion - A Kind Of Silvery Poetry, Just As The Body Was Poetry In Blood And Flesh And Bone.

Lately, The World Felt Fragile, Like A Blown Egg, As If It Might Shatter Beneath A Careless Touch.

So Something Had Begun, And Now She Could Not Stop It. Twin Threads Ran Through Her: Fear And Excitement. She Could Leave This Place Today. She Could Start A New Life Somewhere Else.

Grief, It Seemed, Was A Physical Place.