She’ll come back to you when you least expect it. Every object is infused with that pregnant possibility. And the floorboards know it too. Your steps towards them get heard by her transfigured past: and the more you say the less she hears, so just say what’s most important. It’s lovely outside, isn’t it darling? Can’t we go for another walk? You know the answer, but can’t bear to place your hand on a soul’s dead heart to make it appear.