final strand

She fought a good fight. For him. Of him. Due to him. For herself.
For a while there she was hanging by a thin hair.
Just a strand.
It was after all his genes in her genes. She danced a good dance round the strands of their shared DNA and she could hear him cheer her on. On and on her grandfather time. Tic toc sweet dear, from this you can, you will,heal. As she turned to walk away from this fight well fought she realized her genes had nearly forgotten him. Not a trace of him left in any cell.
And that is after all how time heals us by our chiny chin chin.