Every month, like clockwork, my body returns to the memory of you. Logically I know it is hormonal. Even though my child bearing days are over, my body is not yet ready to let you go. I cannot argue with it. I cannot rationalize it away. I have to ride it out, wait for the surge to pass.
During these times you seem saintly. Gone are your flaws. The way you would look at me as if I were stupid? Erased. How you would speak to me with that tone, slow and deliberate, that implied I was insane? The fact is it was you who drove me mad. Your stubborn, bullheadedness? It seems so endearing when I recall it through the hormone laden haze of ovulation.
I still long to feel you growing inside of me. The shame of that wanton desire weighs heavily across my pelvis. Tomorrow, maybe, I will be free of your memory again. Until then, every thought I have is laced with you.