On mourning

by Robin M.N.

"You think you're over me, but you're not." she said, not unkindly. "It's not that simple, nor so fast. I know this. I have tread this path before, and the way is long and hard."

"You're right." he said. "I can't help but pine for the warmth of your smile. Your lilting voice, wrapped in mirth. The comfort found in your embrace. All of you, so pleasing to me. How could I deny otherwise? But none of these shall I receive again, now or perhaps ever. If I cannot convince myself that I can live without, how am I to live at all?"

"Loss is ever-present in our lives." she replied. "All is transient. Being human is mourning what has past, celebrating its memory and sharing its essence, so that it may live on within us."

"But you're not dead!" he exclaimed. "How do I grieve what remains, corporeal and out of reach?"

"I am not lost to you." she said gently. "Not really. Though our paths diverge, all that we have shared is woven into the fabric of who we are, and travels always with us."

He began to cry, softly. He said, "But my heart still aches for you, dear. How long will it hurt? And how can I bear the pain?"

"Grief is as a snowflake," she said, "and will take its leave only when warmed by the love we show ourselves. Find the love within, and grief, too, shall pass." At this, she took him in her arms and whispered in his ear. "Knowing only that you are loved, all can be borne."

He sagged against her, his tears flowing faster. His journey had finally begun.