I had a strange and wonderful relationship with my girlfriend. She had precognition myopia, the only person who will have it she said. She couldn’t remember the past, only the future. She only knew the future the way I remember the past. Vaguely and obtusely, except for those things only a handful of years away.
This suited me fine, perhaps it was the only way I could find love. My past is best forgotten, best lost, but that’s not the human condition. Except for her. She couldn’t really relate to anyone who lives their lives in the past, cherishing and reliving memories. To her it was emptiness and void. So I suited her too I guess, my past hidden and my desire only to look forward.
She said school was terrifying. She went in clearly knowing everything to be gained in the six grades above her, together with vague understanding of a lifetime’s accumulated knowledge to come. No school would take her in the end, too scared and not knowing what to do with one so supposedly precocious.
She grew up emotionally hyper-sensitive, people’s emotions and futures moulding and twisting her psyche. Imagine having a seven year old’s brain and body yet knowing all that goes on in and around a thirteen year old’s life, going through puberty and all the associated pains and conflict. Worse, imagine having six years to dwell on it, six years to see it coming, six years to fester and roil inside until the inevitable. Then, to add insult to injury, when it occurs it then ceases to exist. Utterly and completely.
Five years she mourned before her father’s death, tearing her mother’s heart out. And when finally he died he passed totally out of existence for her. It was as if he was a mere zephyr, or had never been. To her he truly had not.
I came home late from work last night. She had hanged herself in the garage. She left a note, all it said was ‘Why will you cheat on me?’
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