There they are with photographs of smiling faces and gleaming places, with silly, trivial, meaningless captions of things they've been through, things they've seen, feelings they've felt. And I see them and I remember the day we met in a cold room with a cold body. I think to myself: can we really go on living the same way? As if that brief moment of mutual silence (or voicelessness) was just a respectful, an expected and, thus, mandatory show of grief and respect. Is that enough? Was that all it took for us to forget what death looked like? Can we go on living as we always have been, and even better? Even more carelessly?
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