despair

Despair remembers.

It is a peculiar, flat memory,
in which things become bleak and bounded by the dark.

There is joy in there,
of course,
and love,
and touching.
The presence that makes the
present absence unbearable.

Without triumph,
without love,
without joy,
her work would be for nothing.


in Fifteen Portraits of Despair, de Neil Gaiman, arte de Barron Storey