Maybe

Musings of an Imperfect Heart

She took it in, the notion of time, the great healer of all that holds her down, a constant state of feeling the weight of a posthumous joke, only she is still breathing and the laughter is lost on her.

She parts the drapes to feel the sun, in spite of the chill, she opens the window, draws a deep breath, allows the sound of early morning birds to fill her ears. She remembers his voice, bringing in the dawn, wrapping her up before disappearing,

she believed he wanted to stay…but he didn’t.

She finds it hard to remember what he sounds like, his voice now whispers in another ear, ushering in the light, not leaving in the dark the way he did with her. Maybe she doesn’t know how to let light in, preferring the comfort in the heaviness of midnight’s cloak, shielding her from the vulnerability love…

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