You ask me about the woman's body. Is it still there? Undiscovered? Hasn't the wind blown away the leaves by now?
"No", I tell you, "it's not happening now. It happened a long time ago, Time is relative. She can be there for a very long time."
We are sitting near the window of our appartment and you are looking out to the patch of trees in the public garden.
"She's wearing a poncho, so I guess it happenend in the eighties. Nobody wears a poncho anymore these days."
You look worried. We've been having some fights lately. About time. Spending more time together. You want more time to yourself. I feel I'm acting like a whimp compared to your decision making. But I don't know what to do to win you back. You are already leaving me behind.
"She was pregnant." I blurt out. "She was 6 months pregnant when she died."
Your eyes become dark and shiny you are angry.
"You don't dare", you whisper. I know I have hurt you, but it's the only way.
You are going to take a bath. I suppose you will contemplate your counterstrike there and maybe cry a bit.
She was probably killed inside a house. Either drowned or killed while taking a shower or bath. Water in the lungs with remnants of soap.
I can't know all this because she hasn't even been discovered.