Things were going great. Dates had turned into nights spent at each other’s apartments. Joseph was phenomenally happy. She was…happy.
He thought about the future. She thought about the past.
When he saw the short article on the poet's death, he was disturbed. His few brief interactions with the poet had an impact on him. The poet was a force, even in those odd exchanges on the train. When she saw the article, she was incredibly sad. She still loved him. Joseph showed it to her, and she feigned ignorance of who he was while Joseph told her of his run-ins with the poet.
"I can't believe it. I wonder what happened? God...he was very strange and not in good shape, but I'm still a little shocked..." Joseph trailed off, stood up, and slowly walked away to continue his morning routine.
But when she got home, she cried. She cried for a long time.
She and Joseph's relationship continued, and the past gained distance, as it always does. She enjoyed almost every aspect of their time together, especially discussing his new book, and drinking coffee in his loft in the morning. The hole inside her was closing but it did seem as though it was never going to close completely.
Joseph was ecstatic. He had very few significant others in his life, and her charm, beauty, and intelligence were as close to his ideal as he had ever thought he could experience in another. He was writing frenetically. He was enjoying life.
And then the voices started.