So many writers compare love to a cancer but always forget to condone its ignorance, unaware that its blind multiplication is a specific torture to what a body has always called normal, unaware that it was put here only to destroy the one thing it will learn to call his other, it is only trying to keep you warm, it is an infant searching for better blood, it is doing good it is doing good, it is swarming closer and closer to your heart it is trying to make something inside of you laugh like you did the first day it realized your insides felt holy and it is only when it kills you does he realize he is alone.  This is why we visit graves.  This is why it is hard to understand why the goodbye felt like a twisted last breath in the palm of god’s hand. Why nobody left a phone number.