After they left, the house went very quiet. No one really knew about the quietness but me. I played a Nick Drake CD and lost an afternoon crying. I went for a walk by the river but all I saw was white light and salt pricking my eyes.
I watched apples thump onto the lawn, the wasps dancing in and out of their bruises. I kept trying to play the Nick Drake CD, and kept trying to walk by the river.
There were no visitors.
Not because they had stopped caring but because I think for them it was over. But it was not over for me and still is not over, even though I live and breathe, and hold down a job and queue each day for bread and eggs.
This is what it is like, day in, day out: I can go for months and not notice it. Or I can spend days thinking about nothing else while doing normal things like teaching, cooking, sleeping and walking.
I can go for months and not notice it.
I can go for months without noticing me.