It is now two years and two months to the day. I am having difficulty writing. My grief comes and goes like a great ocean wave roiling a fragile shore, obliterating what new words come to my mind.
If you have a mind to write a love story, think of what it must be like for a man in his eightieth year to be parted from the only woman he loved since he was barely able to be a man.
Sharpen your pencil, allow love to take over your story, write what your heart tells you. Do not pay attention to the critic on your shoulder, just let it all pour out, like my river of tears.