I waded to the middle of the river and was swept along, searching, searching. I was high in the air but tumbling downward trying to catch you. I stared at the screen until my eyes were dry and sore. I ran down the street pushing past shoppers, over and over. I shouted, screamed, shouted. I turned the key in the lock but the lock fell to the ground so I picked it up and it fell to the ground again and again. Every time I asked for peace a clock clanged the hour. Every time I saw you I awoke.
Sometimes when it feels to her as if everyone is waiting for some small event to breathe life into a suffocating world, she is found attending to memories.
She tries to catch absences as they arrive; the past as it claims the present; the futures that crumble at a touch; the goings as they’re coming.
She notes how glister turns to gloom. (Her words.) And how gloom soon unfastens.
Over lunch, in the park, a man sits on a bench and chews a sandwich. She gathers up her phone, keys and pass, and heads back to the office. Time up.
A feeling. Grips you how, if, you don’t know. No I cannot eat. She sits down, scrapes the chair across the floor. Time. The clock presses forward a dreaded minute. She should eat. Oh just to stop the thoughts. It won’t be over until it is. Hard as granite. Cold as metal. Steely stone. Bad. She should focus on it, use it. Anger. But it is not anger. It is the mountain of hurt looming. If I heard a song I would… no. Waiting for news. What if? No. That one day if everything just collapsed. It is now, now…