it was healing… we had said goodbye

(time was on your side)

The past was fading (in hushed whispers when she calls her mom).

She remembers him in fits and starts when she pauses in the street or drops her pencil, the dull patter reverberating through her silent studio. And it’s kind of a frightening surprise when she does (because oh I remember that isn’t quite what she was hoping for). She’s floating in a new life where some things don’t quite fit but she looks over her shoulder and Scranton is thousands of miles away.

She draws wild spirals on napkins, thinking about new friends or repainting her kitchen and heavy warm exhaustion is nice because she falls asleep happy. She likes pacing in the grocery store and carefully selecting cereal because it’s just her (finally) and this is what it all means.

She’s in class when she realizes this is a change because she feels like maybe things were always this way and it’s not regret (which is weird because she knows that she could have had this earlier). She sits on the library stairs, watching the stars because home will wait for her, and the cool, rough stone brushes her skin and keeps her from floating away.

***

The first date isn’t awkward and it isn’t magical, but it’s a blend of biting her lip and soft laughter and hands brushing outside her apartment before. He has dark hair that reminds her of thick warm sweaters in the winter and they compare notes for art history before class.

His smile is shy and she realizes that the past isn’t as far away as she thought. But he points at buildings and sees amazing things so she nods a little and promises herself that she’ll let go for good.

***

Once he calls her late at night, she listens to his voice and sketches his words with feather light strokes because this feels familiar.

***

When she figures out that people are the same everywhere it’s a sting of fear and excitement, and stilted conversation over coffee is a good start (this is growing up in shuffling steps). She smiles and glances at half finished paintings are a new kind of game (reshuffle the desk and start again)

It’s a contest over coffee where they describe something and try to capture it overnight and Pam sits on the floor drawing arched bridges and faded cobblestones. The next morning she stumbles in the street and yawns, shrugging a little (I might get the hang of this).

***

A flicker of the past is a spark in the fire so she closes her eyes (a breath and this could be over).