update from sparkleup

writing/3/terrifying/engagement.html

@@ -38,11 +38,16 @@
 <p>They would not know what I was feeling, not wholly, and they would not be able to ask.</p>
 <p>I would take up an inordinate amount of space in their hearts and their minds, occupying the whole of them as they grieved, pushing out any ability to do much else. That&rsquo;s what happened to me, after all. Falcon died and I was useless for days, for months. What was I to do with this sudden, overwhelming trauma? Simply&hellip;let it go? Hah!</p>
 <p>Falcon died, she slumped against me and left me with her still warm but unalive body, and no amount of weeping, no amount of JD crying, &ldquo;Come back to me, come back&rdquo; could change that.</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>And being dead is full of the labor of catching up,<br />
+as one gradually acquires a sense of eternity.—<br />
+But the living always make the mistake of too sharp a distinction.\footnote{\cite[17]{duino}}</p>
+</blockquote>
 <p>I hold in tension within myself the idea that the only way out is through — through to the void, through that narrow gate, through to darkness — and just how unfair it would be of me to choose that.
 ((Struggling against the instinct to escape, suicidality))</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2023-08-21</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2023-08-22</p>
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