Collapsed underneath covers that are mine in transience, I stare once again at our conversations in grey and blue. It is four and a half months later, but I still sleep on the left side of the bed – for my body has not yet learned this is no dream state. My mind heals piece by piece, for my reservoir of resilience has led me across the Pacific to here and now.

Once in awhile, a flash of pain tugs at my conscience and I panic, for I swore that trauma was evanescent. And that is when I picture those neon lights that one October night when I drove from Ottawa to Toronto. That familiar stretch of smooth highways and glowing skyscrapers consumed me whole. I had almost forgotten that sensation. That was the moment I knew: I belonged in a world where he could no longer be mine.

I remember it all now.

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