Autumn has returned. The leaves are beginning to fall. It is the season that teaches us the art of letting go; an art that, by the way, the Queen has yet to master.
My cemetery is waiting for me. That damp, dark place that forms part of the architecture of my soul. My appointment comes every September 30th. Perhaps this time it will be to close something that was left open five years ago. I will return to the place where there was once an encounter with a ghost. One who still inhabits too many corners of my mind and of my entire being. One I must let go of. Though I would give anything to see him again.
A ghost and a madwoman. What chance did we ever have? It is a psychophony.
The seasons changed. The cup remained full. Despite everything. Despite the time. It was real to me.
Sometimes I wonder if the water has always been flowing in only one direction. Time has passed, silence has settled between the two shores, and certainty never came. That is cruel. Still, the water keeps flowing.
Perhaps that is the strange thing about the Queen of Cups: she had to learn to live without the King. She has not quite mastered that art either, but she has kept going without pretending the cup is empty.
So I leave it here, exactly as it is: a marker in time, for the eyes of the person I will become. Perhaps one day she will return to this place and know what I cannot know now.
Today, another season begins.
And today, the cup is still full.
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