As with a newborn's scent, our hormones get a jolt,when encountering death. There is a smell to it, a unique property that writes upon the senses, a signature beyond our awareness, read aloud.
In Heloise I am taught this morning, a mourning lesson for a second time in single week.
Abelard seems to experience a similar disturbing confusion, desiring food and physical contact more than before.
Another tragic love seperate unrequited dust blows through the moment of fuzzy being.
