Before the Crash
It’s the accumulation of it, like the odor of a cherished pipe long kept in a white oak desk drawer. Eventually, nothing can cleanse the scent of it from your nostrils.
It’s the irony of the relationship now that causes such dissonance in my mind, the distance between us so evident and in such contrast to the memory of our intimacy.
To the effect that I hear myself asking, “Which is true? What I saw then or what I see now?”
And the question distracts.