The woman’s plaintive voice rises and falls like a sigh. I turn up the radio.

There’s no more life
There’s no more rain

I sit at my mirror and brush out my hair.100 strokes every night, ever since I was a little girl. Ever since I could remember. Even before you.

Take me where you are, take me…

My hair hangs to my waist, the length of it like a black waterfall. Your hands once knew it well.

When somebody leaves, the one who stays suffers more.

I put down the brush, impatient with myself and my useless recollections. But memory is long and forgetting is never. I will your face to become a ghost, a spirit. Not this relentless image that burns its imprint behind my closed eyes.

There’s no more sky
There’s no more wind
There’s no more ice
There’s no more fire…

The woman’s plaintive voice rises and falls like a sigh. I give up to memory and feel the tears course down my face, these irrevocable rivers of love and loss.

When somebody leaves, the one who stays suffers more…