For Tristan

August 10, 2010

To where there is much grief springs much of remembrance. And we are swayed to the times of the past: the greater loss of what we’ve lost, which we hold deep in the recesses of memory. And we will not forget. Forge the regret for the things that could’ve been, here within: a son bleeds his heart out to reach a father he knows he could’ve known more. And he has left. And he remained. For life is scarce—a mortal limitation that can’t contain even this love borne out of the present trembling in a young boy’s hands. Condolence.

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