If Heaven Is Endless, Why Am I Afraid I'll Never Find You?
Grief gave me a question faith has never been able to answer. The last thing I ever said to you was a lie dressed up as a promise, and I didn't even know it yet. Till we meet again. I said it the way we always said it; the way we'd said it a hundred times before, at bus stops, at airport gates, at the end of nights that went on too long and still weren't long enough. It was our line. Our stupid, ordinary, sacred line. You'd throw a hand up without even turning around, already halfway out the door, and say it like it cost you nothing, because it never had before. Because there was always a next time. There was always more time. There is no more time now. There is only the sound the earth made; that low, obscene susurrus of soil surrendering onto wood, fistful after fistful, each one a small and merciless full stop punctuating a sentence I was not ready to end. I remember thinking, absurdly, that the ground was in a hurry. That it wanted you. That it closed over you the w...