Soft and familiar sorrow but narrated, by me, this time in the third person. I, the narrator, in this case, feeling by proxy the sorrow that my love feels now. A loss he wasn't ready for, has never endured before, he cries, and then so I.
And yet there is love.
( Isn't that life? At the end of every story of sorrow, you could punctuate with that and it'd be true. )
Oh, how he handles these things, so much love so much grace. Even as sadness rolls down his face, his mind still fixed on things above