The date clicks early on but it isn’t something she marks on her calendar. Sometimes she imagines it in invisible ink, surrounded by birthdays and reminders and SMEAR TEST in red pen. It’s a day she remembers so easily. She closes her eyes and if she wants to, she can relive it. She can relive the whole thing over and over again and afterwards she can gather up the little pieces of herself and carry on.
She has so many mental Polaroids from this time in her life and if she looks too closely she will fall through the frame and she will be able to smell it. Taste it. In her chest she can feel the bitterness from too many gin and tonics. Tobacco lingers in her hair. Red wine and bile drip from his tongue and down her throat.
The date feels significant. She wishes it didn’t. It feels like the opening of a chapter that was never closed. She hopes it