Sometimes words are all we have. What could have been and what should have been sit starkly against what is and what was and all there will ever be. Sometimes a life is so short, and yet its impact so huge, that we wonder how it could ever be contained by time.
Then we realise it isn't, for as long as we love those we have lost they live on in us. Every time they cross our minds, or when their names grace our lips, they enter another day. And if that's true, if we could write their names, if we carve them with ink into paper then just maybe, in some way or another, we could write them into life.
