Life Among the Lost

We went for a walk in the cemetery on New Year’s day, greeting the future and mourning the past. A stroll among the overgrowth and overturned headstones and the piles of ruins from the war. Among all the names whose families had forgotten them. Among the life springing up amid all that death: a trio of deer springing through the grass, nibbling at the flowers left on a grave.

I have lost enough. It makes me a pessimist sometimes. At worst, I can only see the end of things. I can look at a tiny fight, had at a tiny bar table on new year’s eve and see it spiraled out 7 years from now. Among 7 years of imaginary grievances, and see him walking out saying I was always too wild for him.

But the light on new year’s day put things into perspective. Into a haze of vaguely hungover sunlight I said,

“I want to love you until we’re old and gray and one of us has the misfortune of having to do all the paperwork to plan the other one’s funeral.”

We kept walking for a moment and then I added,

“Hopefully the kids will be old enough by then. Make them plan it.”

I took the long way home last night, listening to the songs I played when I was falling in love with you. The soundtrack of the end of summer.

And isn’t this marvelous?

And isn’t this terrifying?

And isn’t it such a privilege, to be terrified to love you?

Give me validation.

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