Visual Narratives of Love and Loss

The strangeness of lingering love is like witnessing the entombment of our old selves while a bleak but palpable thread continues to pull at the hearts’ strings.

We prostitute the best of ourselves to people who can dance to the tunes of a language only we can speak thereby making the personal colloquial. This permission to be witnessed - even the fragments that are alien to us - is what reconciles us to the best selves.

Loving and being loved deeply often become a witness to this reflection.

Yet, sometimes we realize that the shared language has altered. The syntax ceases to make sense, the morphemes sound moronic and the entire language becomes laconic. The new tongue that emerges from the pyre of the old one becomes too difficult to translate.

The only consolation is if one day we find ourselves in the presence of the person and the language we shared with them, we might briefly speak the same vernacular, however hesitantly and quietly.