today, every swallow has been a hard lump, barely gone down. sleep is but a dream tonight. i keep picturing her eating an ice cream cone and laughing in the front seat of the car - from the back seat; from my post as an innocent.
i will die of this pain...unless i can learn to walk the walk of the masters at heart. jesus, help me to realize with every breath, tear, shriek and stabbing swallow, that pain is merely beauty in its naked state.
then beauty shall be what kills me. the beauty of dying will simply break my heart, until its beat is no more than a silent remembrance, hanging still like nothing in life does. this life, this pain, this death...all will register as nothing but a blip - an unnoticeable side trip off the longest of all moving sidewalks.
one blink, like childhood...the cone is melting.
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