To Carly, the world around her was muffled and blurred, as if she were being tossed about in swelling seas, utterly at the whim and wish of the tides. This was a long yearned-for feeling, this separation, this distance, this other-worldliness. It had been a long time coming.
Others saw her as emotionless, cold, unfeeling, least of all broken-hearted. That’s what they wanted from her, to see her weeping and wailing, maybe even clutching at her hair, ripping her shirt in two, destroyed by despair.
They didn’t understand her, and now it was clear as the summer’s day outside her, that they never would. She was more broken, more destroyed, more cast adrift than she had ever been before, probably never would be again. But she channelled, she focused, she used all the pain, the loss, the emptiness and turned it into something real. It was, for her, the only way.
‘This time last year, none of this existed,’ she thought to herself, and raised a small smile. ‘Oh, I wish beyond all measure that you were still here in the flesh, but wishes are not horses and the devil will not ride. This book is testament to you, my love. Thank you for inspiring me with your absence.’
Carly raised her coffee cup, saluted her absent love and swallowed her tears with the bitter-sweet beverage. ‘For you, Andy, for you.’