And the days have passed

Almost literally, the seasons have flown by. With you dragged
along in the periphery of the vortex in a hazy cacoon
events, dates and times bouncing off you in your private sequestration.

You can remember nothing, except for the dull, constant ache that sporadically surges in waves that crash
and ebb leaving nothing behind but wet ghostly stains in their wake.
In the grey insulated void you cant remember the last time you felt joy or excitement. Or even had enough hope through into a future of any sort.

It is a strange, sudden realization. Looking up into the flashing multicoloured lights across the ceiling of a club, expecting to but not overwhelmed by your absence. Instead noting a welcomed void.
Finally comprehending that it is only now, that you finally feel whole again.

It really does take a heart a long time to grief. Or perhaps it is the intrinsic love of drama and pain. The slight masochism that lies deep inside all of us.
The one that periodically compels you to mentally seek out the dull aches of the heart, unearth and unwrap it, then experience a strange sort of satisfaction from the recrudescence of emotions resulting from it –
Kind of the irrepressible picking at a scab. Or like running your tongue along the edges of a chipped tooth to explore that strange, yet familiar groove-
After which of course comes the careful, almost ceremonial re-shrouding and burial of it for the next meticulous autopsy.
Oh you have each fact memorized, each memory carefully preserved. You know the futility of the task. But perhaps it is the desire for any sort of excitement over the daily dreariness that obliges you to follow the ritual.

Its an interesting freedom. Not in the explicit presence that rushes up like the gift of sprouted wings to an incarcerated prisoner, but in the lack of emotion. The constant yawning gap in the soul no longer quite as intimidating, it in fact being mostly stitched together. The house no longer quite as cold or vast as it seemed to be.

Of course some irreversible stigmata does remain from you- how your favorite type of cereal that has now become my routine breakfast, the certain particular phrases turn of phrases, the way you flipped you hair…

But it really does fade.


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