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Every night, I called one final thought into the deep darkness: Come back to me. And just before the dark consumed me, a whisper returned: My angel, let me go…
Lost in my head, unable to fathom the depth of my brother’s heart. A man who told the love of his life, at the moment of goodbye, to love someone else. And to his brother, a promise to love her…
“Live in the stars, baby. Okay?” My voice cracked but didn’t break, and I smiled through my tears. “You’re free. You made me free.”
You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same.— Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
semicolon is where a writer can choose to end the sentence,” she said, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. “But they don’t. The story goes on. It’s a symbol of hope. To keep going.” She smiled tremulously. “Sometimes I need that reminder.”
Love had no end. She was infinite. She was a universe, my universe, and I was hers. Love had no boundaries, no rules, no favorites. And no limits.
