How is it that love can turn from electric spark, from buzzing excitement and deep roiling passion, and bright burning embers, to powdery filthy ash? How does beating pulsing heart turn to cold diamonds, cutting our beloved to splinters when we go? How can we cause so much pain to someone we only wanted to hold dear for what seemed would be eternity?

I have no answers. For all of my experience, I am at a loss as to how Eros dies. When even still, I care so deeply and do not wish to cause harm or pain, I know the romance is dead. If only I could erect a kind headstone. A poignant marker for this beautiful thing that did exist.

I have had my mourning. I have grieved. I am closer to acceptance. But he will start at anger. And somehow I have to believe that the anger is not at me but part of his grief.

He has been in denial for a long time. And while I have moved painfully through the anger, bargaining, and depression, he has not. I think I am ready for acceptance now. So I will be the one to make the arrangements. But when I tell him our love has died, and he has to face it and emerge from his fog of denial, he will hate me for bringing the news. For the knell rung out for him to hear.