Intangibilis

Daffodil: A variant of affodill; the initial d has not been satisfactorily accounted Anglo-Norman and Middle French affodille asphodel, sweet woodruff (c1250 in Old French; also in Anglo-Norman denoting ramsons or wild garlic and perhaps also chives).

She was raised off superstitions, like a child is on stories and lullabies, like Dr. Seuss is read to elementary kids; she was raised to leave the itch on her palm continue no matter how irksome, to bathe in colorful rose petals and herbs on the new year; she was raised on the dangers of the supernatural, but when he gave her a single buttery daffodil on their anniversary, she thought of nothing but the familiar smile on his upturned lips and the urge to press her own against them, which had not abated since their first kiss and would definitely remain long past their last.

Saffron: French safran (12th cent. in Hatzfeld & Darmesteter), whence also Middle Low German safferân. The ultimate source is Arabic zaʿfarān (adopted unchanged in Turkish, Persian, and Hindi); also Jewish Aramaic zaʿperānā).

They have a spice rack in the kitchen, although neither knows how to spice food correctly, anyway. It was a wedding gift from one person or another; they were, by now, a nameless, faceless guest of the night. He looks at them, sometimes, as if by holding the containers in the broad palm of his hands will activate a sort of knowledge mitosis and the spices will speak to him. Instead he rereads their faded labels and gingerly places them back in their set, dusty home.

Silty: Of doubtful origin, but apparently denoting a salty deposit: compare Danish and Norwegian sylt, Norwegian and Swedish dialect sylta salt-marsh, sea beach.

In the earliest days of the relationship, they would walk beside the lapping waves of the sea and talk about—abstracts. The past. The future. She hadn’t noticed how much she missed those conversations until they had tapered and eventually faded away altogether. She thinks, maybe she can remember the taste of salt on his lips, Once Upon a Time. The feeling of his hands, traveling, trailing slivers of sand across the smooth plains of her body. But, Once Upon a Time. She wonders if he ever thinks of these things, and waits for the hundredth time for him to come home at last, if he will come home at all.

Gaping: from gape, the noun;  Old Norse gapa to open the mouth, gape, Swedish gapa , Danish gabe and Middle Dutch and modern Dutch gapen , Middle Low German gapen , Middle High German and German gaffen to gape, stare.

He always closes the door with the knob fully turned, because the click does something to him, some sort of personal offense warranting a slew of low muttered, grumbled curses. She doesn’t know what time it is, hardly cares. She wants to make sure he’s okay, not smelling like he’s jumped into a vat of whiskey and driven, dear lord. She’d say something, something sarcastic, cut him with razor sharp wit but. But he’s sighing. But he’s leaning against the door. But he looks so resigned. But he had come in, shoulders lax, at ease and happy as she hasn’t seen him in weeks. Months, even. She stops looking, evens her breaths, closes her eyes, and hopes she looks asleep and not like a little girl trying to hide herself away from the monster under her bed.

Mandibles: Middle French mandible, mandibulle (1314 in Old French;) “jaw, jawbone,” and directly from Late Latin mandibula “jaw,” from Latin mandere “to chew”

The problem with familiarity is that it’s no longer the intent to be with someone but the sense of normalcy, the idea that this person has stuck around for so long it seems stupid, strange, even, to leave all that for something uncertain. But she knows there’s something there, something at the tip of her tongue, something rotten coating her tongue, her teeth, grimy in her throat. Something she knows, like stories of the macabre, something she is afraid of. She clenches her jaw, clears her throat, and he turns to her. It’s time to face the music. It’s time to let go.

Tailings: from the word tail; Middle English taille, Old French taillier, 3rd singular present taille, to cut, shape by cutting, determine the form of, limit, etc.; in modern French tailler to cut, etc.;

She was frightened by the look of unabashed relief on his face. It was just time, he said, our love has ran its course, he explained. She didn’t want to hear it, any of it, much less say the words that choked her into silent submission. She was a river, and once the love started to dry out, it just left parched flesh waiting, famished for any kindness, thirsty for touch. No, she thinks, biting out a smile with her teeth cutting into the soft skin of her inner-cheek. Love was a river splitting us apart, and one of us had to cut the other loose or we’d both drown.

Pew: Old French, Middle French puie, also poie, poiye, poye  (feminine) parapet, balustrade, balcony, parapet of a bridge, platform. The word is apparently not attested in Anglo-Norman (although compare Anglo-Norman pewe stake (early 15th cent.), apparently ultimately of the same origin)

She had stopped going to church what feels like centuries ago, when she was still young and under her parent’s thumb, repeating Blessed are you among women like familial responsibility would be her benediction. Like repetition would make truth of her words. But the truth was, he was gone, and she was. Not upset. Not quiet. Wounded, maybe. Troubled, more like. But she had loved and let go, because though she would still yearn for those salty beach side kisses, those furrow-browed stares into the cupboard, he would learn to resent the woman he no longer loved. Their time together had expired, and although she hated the idea she loved him. So she loved, loves, and let go. She was going to see if that was, in fact, better than the alternative.