the earth cracks and gives way to water

It comes creeping up at you again, as you lie on the couch reading an unbearably dense scholarly study on new religious movements. It knocks first, a small tickle at the little crevice in your heart, an invitation. And as soon as you look in its direction it gushes out of its corner in all eagerness, a tsunami that floods your mind. Memories of hands held, of heads on shoulders, of the eternity of a gaze. Of cooking together, cutting the onions and carrots and broccoli, of the outline of his back as he washed the dishes. Of wind in hair as you sat on the ledge and watched the night. Of the shape of his calves. You drown, helpless. The security of your head against the crook of his neck. On day one you cried. Now the heart is spent, too scared to let itself tremble, too tired for tears. An exhausted sailor washed ashore. You let the waves have their way.