On the bus in the rain.
A lot of things died when Ryan died. Almost everything.
Beauty didn't die, I still see it often.
In the sky, on the side of a building, in my weird sockless neighbour on his way back from the black and white grocery. But it's not the same as it was before.It's a whole lot sadder. Because it's fleeting. It's going to die too. Everything does.
I suppose that's why there are artists. Naively trying to keep a little bit of it around, so we can touch it, so it never dies. We are saying 'This happened! And it will never happen again just like this. Isn't it wonderful?'
But somehow, a part of me always doesn't believe it, because it's all so fuzzy now.