(no subject)

You forget just how grief can be wearying; how it feels to awaken weary, and not remembering why, until memory rolls in like a lowering cloud. (I found out late last night that the person who helped get me into copy editing killed himself. We met at the LGBT Center, back in 1995; we dated very briefly- it didn't work, but we stayed friends; he wound up in Ohio, engaged to a woman I introduced him to. We last saw each other perhaps five years ago, laughing over old private jokes during a visit of his to New York; now he's gone, just gone.)