Separate landscapes

January 8, 2011
He said it aloud, finally, and that was the moment she stopped mapping out her notions of family, permanent, future

How did it get this bad? she asked. I didn’t even notice.

Was it ever all that good? he replied.

They realized, then, the width of the chasm across which they spoke, the volume of the wind, the depth at which the water rushed by below. They might as well have been living in separate landscapes. They might as well have stopped seeking out rope bridges long ago shredded and fallen away.

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