Things Left Behind

Six miserable months today since the world ended.

So why am I still here?

Stupid world just keeps on spinning, out of habit, as if everything were just the same. As if any of it mattered.










I look up at the night sky. Is anything more certain than that in all those vast times and spaces, if I were allowed to search them, I should nowhere find her face, her voice, her touch? She died. She is dead.

--C. S. Lewis