There is a kind of sorrow that has no bottom, no place where you can rest your hand and say this is where it ends. It comes in waves, quiet at times, deafening at others, but always carrying the memory of what once was whole.
Yet, even in the darkness, there is a hand to hold – a friend’s hand, warm and steady, reminding you that you never carry everything alone. Friendship that has been tested by life’s heaviest moments gains a special sheen, as if polished clear by tears. It is not loud, not dramatic, but it is there, deeply rooted, like a tree that refuses to yield to the storm.
