It Lasts Forever and Then It's Over

by Anne de Marcken

I pretended everything would be okay because it seemed impossible to always be saying goodbye. To blueberries. To the ocean. To ravens. To pelicans and plovers. To the cormorants. To the sunlight on the living room wall at four o’clock. To the sound of you in the next room.

How small or altered or distant must a part of us be before it stops being a part of us?