lonely stuff

by tobias crabtree

i checked on things and, sure enough, life is passing us by. maybe we should say that life is carrying us through, because that’s more like what’s happening. there is the physical world, with stones and skies and shadows, there are worn and tired carcasses that are finished holding souls. shells and beaks and bones that remind us that life migrates. when we have life, it’s not ours to keep forever…it’s a borrowed engine. life makes our eyes glow. it puts red in our cheeks. life thunders in our guts and presses us to love. life, in it’s essence, gives us our moment under the sun. (it includes wounded hearts and arthritic toes and diarrhea and loss of memory preferably in reverse order).

(excerpt from a letter to sarah f.)

and, in the end, we each have only our heart to die with...

and, in the end, we each have only our heart to die with…