rabbit hole-bass

Photo by: Alix Malka

To love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy as water more fit for gills than lungs; when grief weights you like your own flesh only more of it, an obesity of grief, you think, ‘How can a body withstand this?’ Then you hold life like a face between your palms… and you say, ‘Yes… I will love you, again.’
Ellen Bass