Tuesday, January 7, 2014

In this universe

I often see the child we killed. Not a picture; there are no pictures. Just as though I had glanced it out of the corner of my eye and there's a shape, a reality. An absence, maybe, although I don't feel anything's missing.

I never saw a scan. I know why people in the States want women to see scans. If I had, I could never have done it.

I do not know, even so, how I was able.

I do not imagine. I do not wonder. It is a real thing, not a ghost at the feast.

There are lots of things that didn't happen. Lots of chances I spurned or never realised existed. I could imagine, were I given to imagining, lots of lives I could be living. But I am not. And what is always has been and always will be. I know that with cold certainly.

But still the heart speaks. It says the things the mind will not. It does not run on hard reason. It speaks in tongues I think for a moment I understand but realise I have not grasped a word when I try to recall what it has been saying.

I often feel I have failed to love anybody.

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