Split

While the circumstances are blurry, after all it’s been 40 years or more, the split itself is still crystal clear. This memory has been quietly sitting in the still corners, watching, waiting to remind me that it was real. I did not make it up. It was not a fabrication.

This time the yelling was too much, the name calling to unkind, the dehumanizing too complete and final. I could hold no more. Around me all became quiet and still, a subtle grey softness covered sharp edges. My eyes stopped swimming, all emotion ended. I had conjured another, or so I thought.

This Other was the part of me and part of the cobwebbed corners and dusty sunlight that finds you on autumn days. The Other was night time fires and all the cold emptiness between the stars, She was dark forests carpeted with moss, and speaking trees too ancient…