Tongue Tied

I seem to have lost my voice. Probably temporary. I'm sure I'll be jibber jabbering away again soon.

I also seem to have lost one of my daughters. Permanently. I think. Although my mind always creates a nagging doubt that this might, just might, not be the case. That I can snag her back if I could figure out how.

Those days.

Interleaved amidst my days and hours that trudge along in their mean, unflinching way.
Sometimes in glaring bursts of colour, with sound and light.
Sometimes like thin, thin tracing paper with only the merest impression on it, accompanied by silence.

Different.
But.
There they are again.

Interposed between my eyes and the things that pass before them.
In odd flashes of the extraordinary.

Sometimes unexpectedly, causing me to catch my breath.
But at other times I know that I have sought them out deliberately.
Like flicking an enlarged taste bud over the edge of my teeth or peeling at a strip of skin by my fingernail.
An irresistible urge.
Pick, pick, pick.
Jab, jab, jab.
Fiddling about with this messy stuff because I can't seem to leave it alone.
All bodily fluids and salt.

Attempting to make the ending different.
Attempting to bring you back to me.
Still.

Wishing that I could remember.
Wishing that I could stop remembering.

In my car.
In the bath tub.
In front of the computer.
At night, as I go to sleep.

That time. It never quite seems to end.
Or perhaps I simply do not want those days to let me be.
Because they are all you left behind for me to keep.
That short little stretch of time now worn to unravelling by my anxious fingers.

My dear child.
I do miss you.