I know what my heart is like
Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay “Ebb”
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded;
not with the fanfare of epiphany,
but with pain gathering its things,
and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
— Khaled Hosseini from The Kite Runner
My mother was 58 when my father left her for a younger woman. For weeks my mother withered, crying until there were no more tears left, drying inward from her edges.
It took ten years, but he returned like an overdue high tide.
She was sure her love had died but somehow forgiveness budded, that dry pool refilled with water somewhat cooler to the touch, yet more amazing, overflowing in its clarity.