And their faces, and their souls; their passing changes me. They move me. They touch me. Their spirits stir me.
And sometimes, in their passing, they take a part of me. But they leave, a part of themselves. And I wonder, to whom else, I’m passing them on to.
It’s not a bad thing, to carry these people. It’s not a dreadful thing, to feel their pain. But it’s a hard thing; sometimes a burden to explain