“Blurtso longs for Lizzy” (I)


I suppose many people have sat and wondered, over the years, about a loved one who was not there. A father, mother, son, daughter, husband, or wife. I suppose they woke up every morning and went to bed every night with a hole in their heart. With an empty space—one half missing—they carried around, pressing through the day with the half still there. I suppose that’s the most common way to go through life.