Age has surely dulled it, as happens to people too. That your sense of smell is what it used to be. Sure I worried that writing about it might be a mistake. And if that’s what he had to do in order not to suffer, on top of everything else, the pain of guilt, that’s all right with me. The world doesn’t end, life always moves on, and we too would move on, doing whatever we had to do. We’d be in shock for a while, and then we’d grieve for a while, and then we’d get over it, as people do. I have this idea that he did what others before him have been known to do: convinced himself that those he left behind would be all right. I told the shrink: It would not make me happy at all not to miss him anymore. But how would it be if that feeling was gone? I would not want that to happen. Is the poet talking about Love, or Death? Nothing has changed. Question is, how do they know? The one experience she would never describe. But didn’t I hear that drowning is the worst way to die? I’m sure I read this somewhere. I am such a bad swimmer I’ve never been in water over my head.
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