And now you can’t dig yourself out. You can’t take back twenty-two years. You’ve been confined to this low end; it would take just as long to get out. And your hands tear apart as you try to claw your way out, but you fall.
As the dirt slowly falls around your head like shaggy hair in your face, just let the ground completely envelop you, like the tide pulls in its waves. And when you swim in with the tide, you end up right where you had started.
But you got fingers out. And you rise up… got your head above the ground just long enough to prove that the dying man is not dead, to prove that the love once found is found again. To prove that the love we make will never stale, to prove that the life we live will never fail, unless we give up hope. Unless we give up all the rest. Just give up all the rest.
Love is this: holding on when letting go. Love is this: digging up everything gone. Love is this: finding life inside the dead. Love is this: seeing you see me again.