Wow, I hadn’t heard this song in decades. It harkened a passage from Cucariva, my literary-suspense manuscript....
It wasn’t so much that time had frozen, but that he had, while time moved on—she moved on—without him. She was gone—irrevocably—but still he tried to hug her to him, throwing his arms around one no longer there. Flailing hopelessly at the unyielding hands of an unheeding clock. It was the strangest thing. Years had passed, people come and gone, souls passed on and new ones born. World events, political elections, civil strife. Seasons changed, save that of his own heart, exiled into abiding winter.
The seasons had forsaken him. He loved her as he ever had, for this love abided no season, no gospel, but its own. That time marched on, that she was gone, diminished its ardor not the slightest. If only.
And so be it.
But interred well beneath the ice breathed eternal spring, for even without her, within him had she planted the seeds of the greatest love he’d ever known, and ever would know. For in her eyes, lived the light of the world, and even the hardest heart melted at her touch.
