She opens the file surreptitiously. As if someone might see and scold her and truth is, they would. He burned a lot of bridges on this side of the screen.
There are times though, less pathetic than you might think, that she feels she has to visit him. Mostly, it’s a need to understand, for validation. The reason is: with each passing day as he fades further into oblivion and as she feels more and more like some curious relic on display; she has a need to remind herself that they were. That no matter what came after, no matter whom, he loved her.
He encouraged her fey notions of happily ever after and fed her on dreams of a place for the two of them. It doesn’t matter so much now what’s happened, been discovered, other than the sense of unreality that it is gone.
The file though… The file has the words, the photos, the promises, the lies, the searing passion and utter despair that swept both of them up and along like the tornadoes he always spoke of.
It’s true that she reads it mostly in moments of weakness. A careless turn of phrase can bring it on, or the visitors to her zoo, the curious, the spurious, the healers. Perception is everything, she reminds herself and she knows about how he fed perceptions. She’s seen it. She needs to see the proof for herself. And yes, there it is. He loved her.
The file is the proof that once upon a time, they had a future. Once, they dreamed together and the world was going to be theirs.
She can return to her position of strength after these witching hour visits to yesterday. She couldn’t stay to watch his descent into madness. She couldn’t give anymore than the everything that she already had. At the end, she likes to believe that he finally understood that.
She clicks the file closed, takes the hand of a ghost, secure in what she knows…
12 January 2015