Beautiful people died this week. Not just the ones we could see - like David, like Alan - but others. A couple falling in love in a coffee shop somewhere east of here, blown apart in 3...2...1. A patch of ice, a family car skidding uncontrolled across lanes of traffic. Skeletal women in hospice beds, their mouths falling open, their spidery rib cages rising...and falling...one last time. (Here was where he put his hand; where his lips touched that first night, when her flesh was full and smooth and smelled like oranges and just at her shoulder, the scent of her sweat, softly bitter.)
Once upon a time, upon hearing of death, I sorted people into categories. Here I placed sorrow; here, regret; here, a shrug of my shoulders that rose from piety...or disdain. But now I cry freely, my tears falling on the worthy and unworthy alike. (She was looking in his eyes when the explosion began. A smile had just started at the corner of his mouth, a laugh had just started to rise. All his life, waiting, waiting and here...her eyes had a ring of hazel around their dark centers; her hair curled right across her cheek...) Now when I hear about death I put my arms around my self, turn my head into my shoulder, hold us all.