This short piece by Voltairine de Cleyre has stayed with me because of its clarity and force. In just a few lines, it stages a dialogue between life and death, struggle and continuation, solitude and continuity with others.
What moves me most is not only the sadness in it, but the insistence that living and struggling are never purely individual acts. Something is always carried forward.
Some texts do not need much commentary. They open a space of reflection on their own. This is one of them.