Still talking to me...

Before I left with work for Killary Harbour with 84 Transition Year students I went to the house that myself and Liane lived in together to collect a few things I'd need for the trip. Slowly I sort of gravitated towards the spare room where a lot of her clothes and belongings live. I absent-mindedly poked around the room not really paying any attention to anything but the rising and falling tears on my face. I touched some clothes, picked up random jars of make up, smiled at the mess of the place and then opened a press that houses her old college notes. I've no idea what I was looking for or why I opened the press but on the inside of the right hand door was pinned a torn page with the back end of a poem by an American poet I've never heard of called Max Ehrmann. I read it and it seemed like Liane was talking to me... doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. 

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. 

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy. 

The poem in its achingly beautiful entirety can be found here