My Grief is Thinking

It’s difficult to think, to actually think, thinking is beyond me, thinking only exists now as an unattainable intergalactic space station which I look up at and can see with my own eyes but cannot actually see, sensing the unfathomable distance to be traveled, the price I’d have to pay to reach for the stars, the great unlikelihood of thinking that I’d ever be able to find the galaxy I think I’m seeing and therefore thinking of, no matter how bright it is, and the gigantic feeling I have inside of me at the moment I’m thinking that’s actually speaking to me, why go there, what’s the point?

Here’s what I think of what I’m thinking right now, thinking of my dead brother: that I must stay here on earth for awhile, sit in my chair, look out the window, live my life by thinking of doing no more harm than has already been done. And to be grateful there are still a few people in the world who can think about things the way I think.