I understand. Yes, I remembered. I always do; I always will. And yes, the ache of missing is there, very much, and always will be. You do exist. And so do I. Thank you, too. Still. Always.

And words even, words that I knew, and still want to know, as soul-deep. I lost half of me, and I know I did that myself; but more so, it felt that I lost the understanding, the knowing, of this half I lost. And now, here, I see this half of me, but don't know if it really exists.

I don't know what it really meant. It's not about blame; I would understand the bits and pieces of it. It just made me question everything I thought I knew: this complete knowing, understanding, this being home and whole, finally, despite anything, no matter how distant, how seemingly alone;

The silence of songs for other ears, of the call and response of posts, of a 'you' that wasn't me.

Megara: 'Wait for worse? You love the light so much?' Amphitryon: 'I do, I love its hopes.' –Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides #BookWormSat

Why can't I shake the sense that perhaps words are only skin-deep, tattoos turned to ashes in a shiver; my ghosted eyes still asking if they saw, or just imagined, what my heart was blind to.

'We melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist.' –Virginia Woolf, The Waves

Every poem I read pretends to be you, mimicking the cadence of your chest, the metre of your breathing, the lick and lilt of your tongue; every poem I write is whispered by your shadow, ink opaquely bleeding as I speak, drawing your outline, enveloping your absence.

When I bare my soul you feel seen. Who did we leave but ourselves?

'The simple lack of her is more to me than others' presence.' –Edward Thomas, #BOTD (March 3, 1878)

You do live through me; how can you not, when I think of you with every first bittersweet sip, with every spine I stroke, with every page I rustle, with every leaf that falls at my feet.

"Do you know—the only life I am sure of is the life of the Imagination.” -A.S. Byatt, Possession

Waking, I cry “Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.” -Virginia Woolf, A Haunted House And Other Short Stories

"The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.” Virginia Woolf, The String Quartet

"I have missed you. I do miss you. I shall miss you. And if you don't believe it, you're a long-eared owl and ass. Lovely phrases?” -Virginia, Love Letters: Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West

"I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way.” -Vita, Love Letters: Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West

"Night had come—night that she loved of all times, night in which the reflections in the dark pool of the mind shine more clearly than by day.” -Virginia Woolf, Orlando

"Like a little warm coal in my heart burns your saying that you miss me. I miss you oh so much." -Vita, Love Letters: Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West

"He would see her flash her wings.” -A.S. Byatt, Possession

"Yes, dearest Vita: I do miss you; I think of you: I have a million things, not so much to say, as to sink into you.” -Virginia, Love Letters: Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West

"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.” -A.S. Byatt, Possession

"Instead there were little daily miracles, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.” -Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

"You’re the only person I’ve ever met who seems to have the faintest conception of what I mean when I say a thing.” -Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out

"Did we not—did you not flame, and I catch fire?” -A.S. Byatt, Possession

'When you’re gone I shall look out of that window and think of you. I shall waste the whole evening thinking of you. I shall waste my whole life, I believe.' –Virginia Woolf, #BOTD (January 25, 1882), Night and Day #BookWormSat #photography

"But for pain words are lacking. There should be cries, cracks, fissures, (...) interference with the sense of time, of space; and sounds very remote and then very close; (...) beneath all of which appears something very important, yet remote, to be just held in solitude.” -Virginia Woolf, The Waves

'Let me come to be still in your silence. And let me talk to you with your silence that is bright as a lamp' –Pablo Neruda #photography

"Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise" -Virginia Woolf, The Waves

"I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.” -Virginia Woolf, The Waves

"Fear no more, says the heart" -Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway "What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?” -Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

"He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.” -Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

'Why, from the very windows, even in the dusk, you see a swelling run through the street, an aspiration, as with arms outstretched, eyes desiring, mouths agape. And then we peaceably subside. For if the exaltation lasted we should be blown like foam into the air.' –Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room

"Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you" - Virginia Woolf

trees fallen silent fairy-ghosted

to trust the light again

'Love is not consolation. It is light.' –Simone Weil

featherlight behind the clouds I dream my moon

the silence of moonburst words lifelight unwhispered; the silence of your name carved in his tree; the silence of a leaf when it lets go

Still

Night and Day

away for a bit (all good); take care, all

I always had the deepest affection for people who carried sublime tears in their silences. ~Virginia Woolf (diary) [The Cliff to the North by Paul Nash (1912)]

poppies under the stars Simafra

The Whitby that has long gone by Still lives within your seeing eye, And we who come beyond your time Can in imagination climb The narrow streets and cobbled ways – That Whitby of those far-off days. For you have left, that all may share. Tom Stamp. Homage to Frank Meadow Sutcliffe.

how this spring finds us - shy of light's embrace, our eyes wrapped in night

Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light. Theodore Roethke Ph: mpb

I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center. ~Margaret Atwood

william gedney #family #kitchen #one-legged #girls #B&Wphoto

'The simple lack of her is more to me than others' presence.' –Edward Thomas, #BOTD (March 3, 1878)