One of the many reasons why we need each-other

People all around me are dying.
People I’ve known, spent a lot of time with.
I see portrayals of loss and reflection, the examining of objects, symbolic of lost and listless things; the soaking up of someone, one piece, one experience at a time.
These things live in the clothing, the scents retained in the fabric, countless objects, folds of paper. Things that in some way now lack some crucial element that gave life to the memories they represent; the breath, or perhaps the blood.
On the screen, and indeed in the lives of those lost to me these last few days, these memories are collected over years and years. While this of-course is true, I realise that the collecting begins in an instant.
I reflect on friends and lovers.
I’m humbled by how quickly I find myself swimming in scents and memories.

We’re left with such things.
Frightful, delicate, brash, terrifying, sorrowful, indescribably beautiful things.
I begin to think that the only tragedy is that there are far too many to remember, to carry through right until the very end.