Four walls keep silent the narrative that I utter in whispery tones. I hold onto the remnants of her aura with longing for what was. Gold hoop earrings rest on my nightstand; the brush for which she groomed her hair lay somewhere strewn with long black strands. There was a time when I was not so filled with sentiment — there was a time when anger and indifference were absolutely prominent, but it was that evening that I kissed the place where she slept, and I wept. I unreservedly wept.