Sometimes I think I can hear the time whooshing past, but really only late at night when everyone is sleeping and the clocks tick loud. And it doesn't sound like whooshing, really, more like a swirl and a hum and a settling sinking-in.
I went in my Grandma and Papa's house today. Nothing in the house had changed from the day she died. Her coffee cup was in the sink. But she was gone so I guess everything had changed. I put my hands on her vanity next to her lipsticks and lotions and creams and brushes and I could ever so slightly feel her vibe, her her-ness, it was right there and yet it really wasn't. She wasn't. She isn't.
I am in a hotel room now and it never gets quiet enough in hotel rooms to hear the time whooshing past. Tomorrow I will be back in my bed, listening to the swirl and the hum, letting them dull the edges and sharpen the sinking-in details.