but their presence is felt and their story remains.
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
They came to the same place every year for 25 years.
When she passed away, he scattered her ashes there and this cross high in a tree keeps a vigil.
The story was told by someone who had been coming to that same place with his love for 20 years.
True, enduring love…