I found out that a friend of mine passed away this this weekend. She died a few months ago, but I only found out about it now, in a passing conversation about people and places. It had been cancer. It was fast.
With her has died countless stories that no one will be able to tell but just me. I realize why people write memoirs. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
With this bitter news I restart this blog. Because I need to write, it’s been far too long, and because reasons.
Here’s to you, Mandy*.
*names, as always, changed, but only on this page.
I found this poem by e e cummings (he always lowercases his name, no periods), whom I kinda have a love/hate relationship with. This poem though, I really like. The title is the same as the first line of the poem:
love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
…and to all a good night.