reflections in perspective

Delillo wrote about in white noise, the most important unifying trait between humans is their ability to communicate their fear and wonder at death through language. We're brothers and sisters because we can talk about death.

But is it possible that death can make us want to feel more than we should? Is it possible that between head and heart there exists an exterior syntax of emotion that we can only understand through an empathic vernacular that gives us pause? I didn't know him that well, but I can't stop thinking about him. I see the tattoos on his arms taking flight, lifting off his skin, pealing away, and I miss the potential of running into him again and sharing a pint of whiskey. There's nothing touching about my emotions here, only their genuine quality is what's striking and I sit here and curse the almighty for being a poor steward and all those other things as pointless as tears but just as necessary.

I wonder if we need to feel other than ourselves sometimes.