It feels to me like there has been a death in this house. Across the room the dog is sleeping on the couch. She has yet to come home. Occasionally he gets up and paces the room disoriented. He must feel something is up; from when he sleeps between the two of them to the odd silences in the place right now. He is in a temporary studio a few blocks away installing a new stereo system. He will be using it to crank out an edition of sculptures. This place has evacuated like a warzone.
It has been two days that I have known and I haven't yet seen her. I was able to tell him that I am sorry but I have yet to go up to her, put my arms around her and give her a long embrace. What she is doing now must be the most difficult decision of her life, and although it will open up new avenues of freedom and power for her it will feel like they've been carved through her. Now she must feel aimless and homeless, as if awakening from an amputation she has done herself.
I am in my head wondering what it is like in her head. Foolishly wondering when will be the last time we will ever make love, or if that time is already in the ever receeding past. And still, each night, the presence of a body beside me, dead to me but breathing. Monstrous... No words can describe it. It's like murdered time draped over you, spooning you from memory or instinct.
Imagine not being able to afford having children, ever.