Time does not bring relief; you all have liedWho told me time would ease me of my pain!” – Edna St Vincent Millay
A passing comment, a did you know? I am suddenly falling through the centre of the floor. Impossible that they cannot see me disintegrate right here in front of them, but the words keep flowing as the conversation changes course around me. And it is just the memory of falling because I am still standing, still smiling and nodding, though my heart has ceased any semblance of a beat.
The endless, artlessness of this heart, where just the mention of your name can split it down the middle, cleave right through it.
(Cleave – to hold fast, and to tear apart. If ever we had a word, this would surely be our designation).
And to find I still cannot survive your name, even now.
The world keeps spinning through afternoon gossip, but I go in the opposite direction. I follow the combination of those letters back, deep into the corners where I have hidden you. I have not been here in so long, I thought I had forgotten the way. But your name is a map and I follow it so easily back to our beginning.
See, I have rearranged the furniture and vacuumed the floor but it is not as if you were never here. A light dusting would reveal your fingerprints all over. All these months later, I cannot escape the proof of you. There are traces of us everywhere.
And to think that still, no-one detects a thing.