poach talking about philip pullman's his dark materials on the bookblog made me think again about its ending, and to come back to this entry i wrote a while ago:

"suddenly surprised: when i think we're not even separated by death, not even worlds, only continents. and then i sometimes ask what it is i'm grieving for i should be grateful we're both still in the same world, in this time - and happy too, to have once sat under thunder and rain with you (and grateful too, for sunlight on the garden.)

it isn't that i don't know you are gone now, and that all is "over" in every sense of the word: what i cherish now is less than a living, breathing love, but it is also far more than a mere memory. we can continue to love but not dwell - and we will one day be where we can look back without rancour or fear and finally feel nothing - not even passion present - but simple gratitude and joy for the love that once was shared.

the wild waters have subsided, and now a steady stream runs. if my course has been diverted from you, somewhere i will be a still pool for when you will come again to drink.