How do I explain? After years of feeling so tightly bound to others, one day some of the sharpness dissipates. Not dissolves completely: just gradually quiets. Which still makes me sad—it's as if what I know I've carried so close and for so long as my duty has given up on me. My friend says, perhaps you haven't cried enough; watch sad movies and let yourself go. I taste metallic earth in my throat at night, and dream of walking through rooms whose windows all open to the sea. The neighbor's yard is studded with the gold of persimmons. Each branch bows from their weight at various stages: ripe, unripe, swollen with impossible desire.