There is a darkness in the heart of all good things,
The black spot that grows great if you stare too long into the sun.
In love there is brokenness like no other joy.
In each birthing of hope there is an expanse of loss that tongues cannot tell, tears cannot mourn and dirt cannot bury.
There will be no escape. That has always been written.
When something begins, we must accept an ending.
We must enter into the knowing of what will be not, sit quietly beside that awful potential, that lack, even as we cherish new life, nurture it, beg and beckon into the fullness of being with sweet words, heart murmurings, songs, prayers.
In that contradiction lies the only truth, the only answer.
I can only cry to grieve the weight of this happiness, to be released.