Did you ever know, dear, how much you took away with you when you left? You have stripped me even of my past, even of the things we never shared.

— C.S. Lewis

Tonight all the tells of young grief have opened again; the mad words, the bitter resentment, the fluttering in the stomach, the nightmare unreality, the wallowed-in tears. For in grief nothing ‘stays put.’ One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats.

— C.S. Lewis