When someone close dies, you forget about the world. All the things you thought were important become airless, transparent, pointless. Your memories of this person – your friend, your love, your sister, brother – come rolling in, taking over every thought.
Old memories seem so fresh, so real. Repeated use – to savour, to regret, sometimes simply for the pleasure of recall – has worn them in. They sit on you just right, like old overalls, paint-spattered, with pockets exactly where you want them.
Freshly dead, the one who is now gone hardly ever appears as they were yesterday, last week, or even a year ago. Freshness is applied to historical events like heightened colour and contrast. When were were… when we did… old times, like charms, are repeated, and grow stronger.
I keep you (in my heart).