As Cummings reminds us, death was never a parentheses,
or a question, or a way of leaving,
but mostly, an intimacy between this world and another.
Consider Caesar, and how he never asked why, or got angry,
or held it against him,
but instead looked up at Brutus with all the strenght that
could come from a dying heart, and said
"You too, my child?"

Some things are even too much for our world to hold.
Even war shows us that once it's over, you can never let any of it stay with you, and happiness works just like that too.
And now, even as you read this,
knowing that the most beautiful of things rarely ever repeat themselves,
you wrote to her saying
"I am still afraid of feeling so alive in a world
that never keeps anything forever"
but it does keep everything forever.
it takes all that it knows,
and puts it in people and we just look for the ways that will keep all of it alive.
And remember how when we die,
the body flushed rigomortus,
will cause the hand to cling to the last thing in its grip.