I know a woman. She is beautiful. She likes to be reminded that she is beautiful. And by aknowledging her beauty, it is as if there is a connection, a sacred tie between her and I.
In her absence, I cannot comment on her beauty. Or if I do, by writing words down and trying to make things clear, I am only really commenting on my memory. I cannot smell her scent or taste the flavours of her company. The light that travelled between us, travelled light years ago.
In my absence, she has found herself a man. He can be with her and remind her of her beauty. There is no jealousy, just a joy tinged with sadness - for I know she can now be happy.
On the day that my mother left my father, I am still thinking of her.