There is a particular strain of sadness that caresses it’s way through the air and into the pit of your stomach. I’ve spent the past year watching you slip away. I’ve walked slowly backwards through our shared time. Our memories are fluid and flowing, each one laps over in my mind. One on top of another, layer upon layer, I can drown in them.
The pain of your retreat is acute and dull. I can feel you in my shoulders, the unrelenting, unyielding tension. I can feel you in my hands, always grasping but always empty, never quite able to reach you. I can feel you in my head that incessant, persistent tapping, waking me from any peace I try to sustain. My heart though, that is the only place I can’t feel you.