M, can i read this poem? Because it i perfect. I love it so much. The thing is to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it. And everything you've held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,. Your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief waits you like your own flesh, only more of it. An obesity of grief. What you think, how can a body withstand this? Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes and you say, yes, i will take you. I will love you again. Valory eiad do this