To a Crumbling Memory,

He could hear someone playing violin in the deepest corridors of his mind, loosening his muscles, calming the nerves and swamping the empty spaces in his heart. “And she’s gone.” He struggled sighing.

He was in the utmost state of peace and quiet, knocking the door of his neighbor slash best friend. He wanted to be with someone who could comprehend the loss he had gone through and how he still managed to keep his poise. How he had sent a loving farewell email to his ex-wife, apologizing and forgiving, letting her go, before he decided to meet his pal.

And how he would always miss his beautiful figment of imagination, love of his life, the girl who triggered all that he had lost after the divorce. How in the quietest of corners of his heart and mind, he was afraid to lose his senses in an attempt to trust that he was so desolately marooned again. She was gone.

He was on the roof of the apartments he lived in, with his best friend. Not saying anything, they kept sitting on the edge of the roof, shoulder to shoulder, breathing quietly, and feeling each other’s unsaid pains. The loss was grave, and the pain was unnerving. They had to let go…

No…He had to let her go with a promise of reuniting in the midst of the town where she had vowed to wait for her. But he had to find her and he would, he just had to see when.

“Imagine living while starving yourself, not eating a morsel, yet asked to live and work and be in the humdrum theater that life is.” He murmured.

“I didn’t want her, I didn’t need her. I was her. How would I be myself now?” He looked at his best friend with hollow eyes.

“Her voice kept me alive. Her laughter is everywhere. Her senseless jokes and nonsense excuses and…and…she’s gone, half the world away.” He choked on the last sentence, and she hugged her best friend, sighing at the fatal pranks life played. “Only if she could numb his grief…”