Time passes. Memory fades, memory adjusts, memory conforms to what we think we remember.
She is overtaken by a sensation of unbeing. There is no other word for it.
It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone, the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain.
Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there, and you have, too. You’re nodding your head.
Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.