Today, for the first time this year, it felt like autumn outside. It was subtle, just a coolness in the air, a lower slant to the sun, but it was there.
It doesn't seem fair for the seasons to be changing without P, but they are changing regardless. Time doesn't care how you feel about its passage. It just keeps on rushing forward and sweeping you along with it, like a dead dry leaf in a gutter full of rain, carrying you away from the people you've lost.
I've been told that time and space are really the same thing, but I never believed it until now. It's not like P went away, more like he stopped somewhere and I kept going. He's still back there in summer, and I'm moving on into autumn, and every day takes me farther and farther from where he is. And there are so many thousands of days, so many changes of seasons, that I have to live through until I can get back to him. I feel tired just thinking about it.