Waters of Lethe by Amanda J CobbSeven months later and it still feels like last week, yesterday, today. No matter how many days of willed forgetfulness pass, something happens to halt the daily routine, to make me remember, to bring tears rushing out of these eyes the world assumes have long been dry. Every time I answer the phone and it's another ignorant salesperson, asking for him, and I have to say it out loud "He's dead". Every time a letter comes with his name on it and I put it in her mail pile because I don't know where else it should go. Every time I sit in that chair, or at that desk, or in that room, or on that porch, I still sometimes expect to turn around and find him there, smiling as he tells me to get out of his seat.
Seven months later and I still remember every minute of that day: every action, every breath, every tear. Give me seven years and still I will remember every detail of that door frozen shut with icicles, of that room, cold and horribly silent, of the notes left propped on the table. Give me seven decades, seven centuries, seven hundred lifetimes and I will yet remember his face as last I saw it, sad and still and tear-streaked, the hole through which his life poured out matching the hole that he must have had, inside, for him to do that. Give me eternity and I will still remember that I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Seven months later, but it will always seem like last week, yesterday, today. No matter how many years of willed forgetfulness pass, something will happen to halt the daily routine, to make me remember, to bring tears rushing out of these eyes even I thought dry. Whether it happens when I'm wearing my cap and gown, my wedding gown, or my birthing gown, each day will have an empty place, where he should've stood... where he could've stood. And where, I do not doubt, I will still sometimes turn and expect to find him there, smiling and telling me that it's about time I got out of his seat. 07/27/2001 Posted on 09/20/2002 Copyright © 2025 Amanda J Cobb
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