The Place Where They Go
Something like freedom? Something like resting in a park.
But not taking the park for just, a park. For knowing that it's a little living place, where things are growing and fading. A world all in its own. The garden of flowering shrubs is such beautiful imagery in itself. Bright beams except where she stands over.
Whatever you mourn, I mourn too.
I know I can't know it like you do, but my heart wants to feel what yours does.