Sometimes while I read and anguish overcomes me I would address her and read to her precisely what line that stirred me so. I would explain to her the whys and how sos and she would listen good naturedly, as she always does. She would smile and make a self-depreciating remark to her non-existent interest in reading and so could never understand my anguish.
I managed quite well alone. I steeled myself for grief but it never came and so now I am cooled by my conquest of solitude. I do not say that there were not times that loneliness made itself more present than usual, but we reconciled and parted friends.
I harbour deep fondness for her but not feelings of wanting to connect. Rather, we are like two parts of a city separated by a great river. We have a bridge between us but it is small. So we exist harmoniously together but separate.