Tristesse.

I find myself sinking. Pulled down by the beauty I find in sadness.
An image. A chord. A symbol.
Why does it have this impact? Why do I form a connection with that which would pass so many others by.
We are surrounded by tragedy; painful, cruel, and raw.
How is it that love still remains.
Above all else, love remains.
In a letter that will never be read.
In the hug of family reunited.
In one man's friendship with a three-legged dog.
In a bird's broken body.
In a tree on a hill.
In the loss of a brother.
In the loss of a friend.
Even in the heartbreak that is lost love.
Love remains.
And it is beautiful.
And it hurts.