Breaking up is hard to do, but it does not come without its occasional joys and surprises. Every now and again, you feel free. The wind coming through the windows, the music playing softly, the book you happen to be reading, the unexpected acceptance that you have the day to yourself, truly to yourself. One man's horror is just another's understanding. Time lurks and menaces in the darkness, though it can be quite soft and sweet in the afternoons.
It's not all over yet, of course. The heart does not work at the mind's pace, nor is it always able to make the same leaps, particularly as it tries to jump forward. It comes around, it must. Absence stings for a while, then like most things it becomes too boring to endure. All that it takes is some tickling from fresh fingers and the past delightfully becomes the past.
Time moves one direction, the heart another.