But sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a brackish wreck which was illumined in a light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.
Heartsick, heartbroken - to know love is to know pain. What could be more common? Even so, each broken heart is so singular that with it we probe the divine.
And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.