I am not handling this very well. In the constellation of my memories, many of the brightest and most colorful are flickering with Mark's twinkle. Inspired perpetually by him, I will set to the task of repairing the fractured oubliette my heart seems to have become; tears keep leaking out. A hug to repair it. A cup of tea to fill it up again. His impish grin to set me right. Loved. At the very least, my Tinkerbellian muse, has had her petite posterior hip-checked off my shoulder and her top-hatted, nose-flute piping, chuckling, gleeful replacement is settling in nicely.