Lessons come on like glass cuts. Sudden welling blood pooling in your palm, understanding crystallizing roughly analogous. And so are we. Analogues for bigger things. Our absences filled with the crippling enormity of grief. ******* wounds in the world. And somehow we're expected not to recover but to be suddenly good as new. Glass cuts jagged through skin like understanding but you're gone like forever and I'm having a hard time grasping that. We are analogues for absence we're just standing in the place where missing us and losing us and forgetting us is supposed to go. We are cenotaphs adorning our own empty graves. Roughly analogous. Like understanding and the violent, jagged cuts that the glass made. The blood pools in my palm and try as I might I don't forget you.