Death staggers the imagination. Of all of life's mysteries, our minds pause longest at the prospect of death, haunted by the invisible. What is there?
Is it vanity?
I think in some cases the prospect of death teaches us the substance of love. It's contrary. The harder the circumstance, the more piercing, determined and luminous it, love, can be.
There is a saying that I can't locate now that says love breaks the heart again and again until, finally -- finally -- it remains open. Surely without it, our imaginations are impoverished. But even knowing that, there are some things that I can hardly think on. May this story haunt your imagination.