Perhaps there is little difference between day and night. Between you and me, we live both at once and it seems it is not enough. And too much.

What happened? …How did it happen? I asked. You replied, We laughed.

How can I understand how to love you under the sun? That is, how to love you when you have turned your back to the cloud, when you have left the missed hours behind, to gladly face your own? How do I begin bearing this still gray weight, and recognize it as my own?

On Saturday you told me you did not know how to love me more; on Sunday… well, on Sunday. (This is why I ask all these questions, and blame myself).

There is meaning in prolonging the sweetness, I realized, there is meaning in tomorrow, I hoped, and there is meaning in these words, I prayed. There is always a difficulty, and the difficulty is that some difficulties are harder to accept than others.

Is there a gentleness lost that can’t be regained? Did I make the choice to put your picture by my desk, or was that choice already made for me?