Splinter

copyright Taryn O’Neill

Time. I remember when I thought time would heal everything. I thought of it like a distiller, a sieve, breaking apart the sharp bonds of betrayal, like water softening the fibers of a rope. But I know now the feeling is only splintered, floating by itself, untethered. The poison is not gone just lost. We remember why we were hurt, disgusted, enraged, but we don’t as much remember the feeling, the head-ripping anger. Because it has detached. And between it and you, like the choppy sea, is time.