"I don’t remember the details of his face. It’s like I’ll close my eyes and there’s this blurry figure where he used to stand in front of me."
She eyed the corner of her room where she’d had his picture propped up. But she’d thrown out all those images. They’d been too hard to see back then.
"You reach a point where you remember the color of their eyes and forget the shade. And at first that feeling is terrifying. That this person who meant the absolute world to you will become nothing more than a face you can’t picture clearly…and I thought this would feel tragic. But really I feel fine."
"How did you know you were in love?"
"You just know"
"So then how do you know it’s time to let go?"
"I guess the same way you know you’re in love. The same way you know most things…you just know."
Meriam BHT, and sometimes forgetting is not a tragedy
Excerpts from a book I haven’t written #10