I loved his confidence. I would marvel at that, it is a quality so foreign and wonderful to me.
I am struggling now. What do you do with all webs of love and hope that remain? Where do they go? What am I expected to do with them? Ignore them? Repress them? Give them to someone else?
Spring now, everything is verdant and brimming with life. Evenings are soft and golden. I feel as numb and colourless as a ghost.