Perhaps T.S. Eliot Was Right



In exploring revelations about love and all it’s complexities, a certain sense of urgency emerged some time ago. Juxtaposed with my experiences in dealing with death and grief, I couldn’t help but think of the rather impassive nature of death itself. In many societies, people have grown up thinking that death and dying are highly intense, frequently epic and preferably heroic; but I have found this not to be so. It is the grief and sorrow felt by survivors, as they tell stories and remember the deceased, that gives a person’s death the face of Shakespearean tragedy (okay, I might be exaggerating a bit there) and turns their death into a highly emotional, intense affair. But, really, many a death are quite unremarkable, even quiet. There is usually no big production; even when death is instant, the person usually just ceases to be alive. Frequently, death is longer process: the person fades away as the sun sets in the western sky. I thought of the end of T.S. Eliot’s poem The Hollow Men: “This is the way the world ends; this is the way the world ends; this is the way the world ends; Not with a bang but a whimper.” But, even in this quiet, tense scene I present below, death cannot kill the love people feel for each other. Love endures beyond the grave, beyond the veil, beyond the shadows of the setting sun. Without further ado, I give you my fifty words:

Diamond-peaked waves crashed gently. The sky was an explosive array of colors, the sun calmly sinking beyond the horizon. He turned to me and asked, “It was always you and me, wasn’t it?” I replied, “You are my one. To the end of the world.” Tightly, he gripped my hand.

It’s about me, and someone I love very deeply. To the end of the world! 🙂

Auf Wiedersehen,


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