I remember reading an awfully touching poem in my grandfather's letter to my grandmother. It was at the beginning of the gun era. And death tolls had risen. They were on opposite sides at the time, not allowed to fall in love, not allowed to speak, but my grandfather would go through the ends of the world to send her letters.
it went something like, 'Even if I studied you, you and all your pains. Studied those fragments of your heart that still weep, I doubt that I'd be able to comprehend how you may have truly felt. Not because I don't care or because I pay little attention but because after the moment occurs, the details fade. Details that mattered most. Like the weeping and the time of it, or even what evoked that sensation in the first place. I was not there to hold you in those moments...but I am here now. I am here, and I want to hold you. Tightly..so tight that even the child within you feels comforted.'
