I am grateful for the outcome, and watch history recede. I think about reaching out, and let the thought go by.
I am grateful.
And yet, if I touch it, it's like a loose tooth, or a fading bruise: the hurts are there, but they're transmuted by time into a place where reality and fantasy merge: a remembered ecstasy, an act of creation, a place where my heart, my essence, my is-ness, said yes, and you did too. I thought, in that moment, how sad that people live so long without this.
But here I am, without you, gratefully.