Irregularities in regularities, she’d taught me once. When he had been there, he, who had been enough to brighten the sorrow she held on to so tightly. I often wondered what was regular or irregular, what made things one-way or the other. Once she had tried explaining, when love was still in the vicinity. I could smell, hear and touch love. What had then turned the tables? What was their irregularity? Sometimes, when she wiped her quiet tears sitting in a corner all by herself, I would wonder. ‘Heartbreak’ and ‘heartache’ became regular words during this irregular phase of her life, and I was only too close to understand what she meant that day.
Irregularities in regularities.
Unexpected heartbreak in deep, intense passion?
Oh, Carhcita, if only you knew.
How his face had been in those high moments, how ashen.
Your regularity had been my regularity too.
And, this irregularity only stood to prove it all true.