I’m writing. Shhh, don’t talk or wish me well, Can’t you see I have far too much to tell. A whistling sword, an armoured dragon, A trumpet-blast and a rickety wagon. How it turns out is for me to hook, And found in the pages of my little book.

It is there. Seen, heard, and felt. Emptiness of a chair, and quiet rooms of a house. Stillness. No softly spoken words. The loss of a conversation is overwhelming. Debilitating. The laughter is gone. Sadness stretches across, as a face loses its shape. Sorrow. There is emptiness, spreading its shadow over a heart, and the […]