The interest and influence has not really subsided in the years since, though my fondness for rehashing/apologia has.
The gutting, deep stomach wretch that gurgled up through my throat at that moment hasn't really subsided since we moved into the homeless shelter last year.
Back at the choral-festival job, where the pangs for my infant never really subsided, I would have loved to have brought her into work maybe one or two days a week, but that was out of the question.
The warring impulses in him never really subsided.
The feelings she turned over that day never really subsided.
But when these were spent, the noise had not subsided.
The anger had scarcely subsided a day later.
I woke up later, and the nausea had finally subsided.
It was magical really, and my fear had subsided.
The thought of, "Is she really in there?" has completely subsided and has been replaced with the inevitable juxtaposition of, "When the hell is she coming out?" Within the span of a month, my wife and I have gone to a wedding, a funeral and now, soon, a birth -- our own daughter.
