But My Father, A Thief In Many

Lost Love Is Still Love. It Takes A Different Form, That's All. You Can't See Their Smile Or Bring Them Food Or Tousle Their Hair Or Move Them Around A Dance Floor. But When Those Senses Weaken Another Heightens. Memory. Memory Becomes Your Partner. You Nurture It. You Hold It. You Dance With It.

Kids Chase The Love That Eludes Them.

Suddenly, Details Seemed Extremely Important. Details Were Something To Grab On To, A Way To Insert Myself Into The Story.

But You Grab A Moment, Or You Let It Pass.

It Is Far More Comforting To Think God Listened And Said No, Than To Think That Nobody’s Out There.