There is a paradox at the center of life. And the closer you look, the harder it is to understand. Life is a fragile thing and, in ephemerality, takes on an infinite meaninglessness and an infinite value. The desolation is absolute — we stumble blind in search of anything at all that might be more than sand slipping through our fingers. We are each alone in the depths of a dark forest, suffocated by gnarled roots and twisting vines, life’s utter despair entwining all things.

But there is greater sorrow without you now. The world moves on, our lives truly less than senseless noise. But still there is greater sorrow without you now. It’s meaningless for us, for me, to carry this aching pain. I’ll soon be gone too. But I weep for you, and remember you, and continue to fumble through the maze because I don’t know what else I can do. May you have found peace. My words are not enough; I’m sorry.