More and more, the present is becoming a foreign, fractured world of strangers. The past is familiar. The love of her life is there, alive and hale. Whole. Frozen in their best days. Is it selfish to keep trying to drag her back here? Are we the comfort? Or are we the ghosts? Having seen that fresh devastation in her eyes, I’ll never tell her again. The truth is not the most important thing. Her peace is.
