Poetry has a long, long memory. After our love is long gone, we will still be reading your poems. You will not be the only one whose heart this breaks. Know that we will stand , reading the words written about our love – and we will ache for you The body will remember the way you shifted and sighed as skin met skin and those words will pay tribute to the lines that were composed while we moved through this world together. Because of this, we will never truly forget you.Let us remember.

The less I know – the more the world opens up, wide and waiting.This is how I have come to understand the taste of freedom.I am filled with resistance. But still, I am here.One letter on this screen at a time, I am here. Neck aching and back bent and eyes burning, I am here.This is what it means to show up.This is what it means to trust the calling.This is what It means to write.

I wonder now, is there is a word for strength leaving your body? Or love?What of its arrival?Or is it only pain that the body names, and then only in it’s leaving?It is true, I know, that there are some things for which there are no words.Only the spaces between the words we know to say all that must be saidAnd I think about how some calls come deep, for years and years before I finally answer.I wonder why this is so. And I wonder what this tells you about me.

You have never been as beautiful as you will be through our eyes. You will have never known that the hard edge of your hipbone was worthy of poetry, or the curve of your smile or the husk of your voice or the caress of your cheek against our own. But if we love you, we will turn you into a poem. You will be made immortal by the power of our words. You can count on this.Let it happen.

If you’re going to love a poet you should know this. Our words are our truths. Our blood hums with verse. We break easily. Our words save us. Our stanzas keep us alive. If we loved you at all, we loved you truly. And you will never leave us but live under our skin and beneath the tips of our fingers and in the ink spill on blank page.Because poetry, like some love, is forever.

These words and these stories can save a life.Who knows – maybe even your own.