Who you have been for nearly one week now feels entirely outside of your body, like you can see her sitting next to you at the kitchen table, wringing her hands out and chattering into the telephone to her mother, her sister, her friend. She is weak and worn out in the same places you pride yourself in being strong. She keeps on saying it’s the heat, keeps on saying it’s the planets, keeps on saying things you know are never true.
In the evenings you take her out for a drink because it looks good on her and you think it will make her feel better, and for fleeting moments it does. Who is she you wonder.
When everything starts to settle down there are still bits and pieces of her left all over your life. And it’s hard to forget how she cried in the afternoon, stayed up all night, and climbed the hills behind your house because she couldn’t bear to stop moving for even one second. She’ll be back, you know she will, she always comes back.