The shoe has dropped

Now that she has gone, a strange relief has washes over me. Phone-calls won’t stop my heart and I don’t have to fortify myself against her acts of frustration and watch her waste away in pain.
The picture of her body, on a hospital bed with a syringe stabbed into her neck and another taped into her mouth is not the one that will stay with me.
In the afternoon, I close my eyes. I am six and snuggled against the folds of her ample warm flesh on a diwan meant for one. She’s thumping my head sleepily, but I look out of the window waiting for her to fall asleep so I can sneak out to play. There’s a warm breeze blowing from the wooden window with bars I can no longer climb. The flower she pins to her hair is kept by the sill, with her sticky tikli.
It’s a moment that will forever exist in time as it would in place. It’s where I go to be with her.


2 thoughts on “The shoe has dropped

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