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Darkest Before The Dawn

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It is time that eats away at the moments that pass, lights in fast motion, until the time spent full and overflowing, minutes and hours and days of light, caulks all the gaps of any thought that could be spared for her. But under the night sky, where time moves with a slowness he's charted with unpartnered steps, there is the absence of her. There the moon is full, when it was not.

There, again, the moon is full, when it was not, brightness spilling over through the windows, coating the hallway outside his lab in pale silver blue, and there is the absence of her and he is alone. When did he last note the passage of time like this, as he passes under the hum of this summer night?

She was never meant to be the frequency of loss, but there it hums in all the empty space she once occupied, home to lab, lab to home. It is there and he feels it, shivering. The gnawing memory of being once rejected haunts the now of her gone away.

The resonance of her absence shivers down his back like prickly heat, itches at the corners of his eyes at the end of the day, scrapes in the breath taken to say her name when footsteps approach his door, now halted, awkward stumbling, pebbles in his path when the road was once smooth. When did he last note the brightness of a moonlit night?

When did he last take his thoughts out of spinning, spinning, like the time that has spun the moon inevitably to reflect its borrowed light? Too long, mourns his loneliness, sad and small-voiced. He's been without. If she were to stand before him now and ask if he'd missed her, then he would say yes, because the hole of time gone is too large for him to fill by himself and the planets have risen outside the gates of the atmosphere, chastising him for wasting time every moment, for forgetting that after waking the dream fades away, just like every intention meant to make clear her importance to him.

There, the moon is full, and she has been gone, and he is still under the silver light, closing his hands on emptiness, grasping at the thought -- she will return. She will.