“When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn’t make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. “It’s all right” we whisper, “I’m here, I love you.” and we lie: “I’ll never leave you.” For just a moment or two the darkness doesn’t seem so bad.”—Neil Gaiman (via skeletales)
I wish I could save all the cute and adorable and heartfelt and stupid and wonderful and funny and stupid things we say over text message, just like my grandparents kept the letters they sent to each other while they were apart.
Reading them now makes me feel so connected to them. And I wish I could go back and re-read your messages to me the same way my grandmother re-read the messages from my grandfather.
It makes me sad to know that our children and grandchildren won’t be able to read them.
It makes me sad to know that I can’t read them now.
Maybe that’s what makes our communication so precious. It’s fleeting. We can’t go back and find it again, memorize it, piece it apart. Instead, we have to have faith in the love of one another.
Maybe that’s the gift we’ve been given in our time apart: faith in our love.