I’m sitting at a friend’s house, surrounded by books and unfinished artwork in the room that I tend to use. My partner would’ve been with me, but isn’t, pulled away by the duties that death brings. My heart aches for my other half, but there is nothing that I can do to make this burden easier.
So, I sit in quiet, and I think. And write.
And hope that the light will come again, maybe not tomorrow or the next day.