Memories are painful.
I am an expert at torture through memory.
When I think about us the moments stretch before me, silently, invitingly. But always, the image of those first moments on your balcony seem most painful, and most insistent.
There was so little between us then — so little depth, so much anticipation. And I wonder, did I know then how little fabric held us apart? Material, mental, time. I know that I was conscious of your eyes that night.
And then I writhe a little longer under the image, knowing how she stood there after.
– Colette Heald