Wild Dark Shore

by Charlotte McConaghy

Loving a place is the same as having a child. They are both too much an act of hope, of defiance. And those are a fool’s weapons.

And I can understand why he might not, in fact, be alright. Why maybe none of us will be, because we have, all of us humans, decided what to save, and that is ourselves.

But here is the nature of life. That we must love things with our whole selves, knowing they will die.

“Maybe we will drown or burn or starve one day, but until then we get to choose if we’ll add to that destruction or if we will care for each other.”

It is really fucking sad that it should take loss to know the precise quality of love.