a quote from soren kierkegaard, sent to me by a friend (a little something that i hesitate to post but that maybe sort of speaks to add a bit to the why of this post):
What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in her heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music… And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’ - that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music! That is blissful!
i ran into a friend yesterday who i've not seen since she lost her son (within a week, i think, of when we lost eliza). she said she's been reading what i've been writing, and i've got it and should keep doing it. and another friend who very recently lost her father said what i've written has helped her mother. so i'll keep doing it. in lowercase.