The moon crashes into ocean night spilling iridescence o'er me, o'er half-opened eyes. Bathed in the soft glow of my friend holding me beneath dappled shadows of a whispering tree, I wake from infinite dream to return a blossoming flower— A light has come to me now in this midnight hour.
"The act of living is different all through. Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything." C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed