First Class Honours. Graduation. Gym membership. Research. Meeting after meeting after meeting. Classes. Colds. Papers. Too many bottles of beer, bottles of wine. Delayed responses. A missed birth.
Meanwhile the darkness was drawing nearer, the leaves falling and falling, as the gold and the scarlet decayed, as veins dried up and swans drifted past without a memory of their cygnet past.
So much to do, so little time, November crumpling up as I struggled for the words, language to call my own (it had been his for so long, and I, supportive.)
The darkness came amid the students squealing in their games, and the memory of pollen drifting in clouds down the canal no longer, and the old men leaning over the rails in a city transformed by fleeting wealth.
Here I am, I am, I am.