791. and out the door

Continuation of Trev's last journal entry:

When she leaves and the smell of her is still upon the air, still in the room of kitchen warm, what flows into my vacuum is as a dam opened. And waters rise. To know of flooding, of how it comes and cannot be stopped, to know of nature in this way is to know of passion and desire unleashed by her absence. I ask not for this. Seek not this force of want and need just as one seeks not the hunger between meals or the thirst between drink. She has become necessary. Vital. I bloom in the sunshine of her smile. And although wilt is too strong a word, I am not the same when she is gone.

So she leaves, as she must. And the hours slow, the cottage silent but for ticking clocks. In this way I know of two times. The time of her and the time not of her. They are not the same and this is where I know math will not explain the universe, cannot manage the ticking of a heart or comprehend the seeking of a soul for union. Too, I know the essence of oneness by its breaking, for that is how it feels when she leaves, a breaking of wholeness into pieces and the feeling is of incompleteness and where before with two legs I could run, now with one, nothing is the same, every step a hop, a struggle and where before there was grace and elegance and dance, now there is only longing and sitting and waiting.