מצולקת

And perhaps when I'm gone, I'll awaken from nothingness to find a beautiful room, with tables and tables where all of my loved ones are seated, smiling and waving at me. I'll stroll through it, a white dress flowing from my shoulders and grazing the marble floor, my bare feet gliding with ease that I had never possessed while I was alive. I'll see my family, my children, all the people whose fate I had touched and had touched mine. And at the very corner, I'll see you, smiling absentmindedly, wondering what you are doing here. For I had cut you out so bluntly, and you had moved on so painlessly, and it seemed that we would never cross paths again. But when our eyes meet, we will both understand that there was something there. Something no one could take away from us. And perhaps we would have one final, guilt-free dance under the bright white light, and neither of us would have to pretend. You would leave then, just as you had left so many times before, but this time I would know. I wouldn't wonder which one of us was stronger, which one of us needed the other most, or how much we could have accomplished together, but had chosen not to. I would watch you leave feeling contented, and my mind would clear at last of all the painful memories of you, like a vast field christened by rain; beautiful and pure and free at last.