She left without a warning. As usual. This time for good, it seemed. For she used to love with an indescribable passion and then fly away like a feather, hiding in the depths of worlds unreachable, unheard, untold. She left me words, music, dreams and a single photograph. I listened to the songs night and day with lyrics about lost love, unforgettable friendships and times of togetherness never to return again. You don’t owe me anything, I am not afraid of your indifference, it is time to admit my cowardice; I will never be able to say (I love you) for there is nothing but the fated absence of hearts. She left without leaving me, not completely, for she kept me hostage in her heart, in her words, in her music and in her letters (did she know she would come back to haunt me so many years after?). Time is lost only for fools who try to retrieve it. The music does not sooth, it does not comfort, it does not revive the missing piece of a broken world. I wrote her unsent letters and begged her to stay, to hear me, to love me as I loved her. And I let her go. She left without waiting for me to do something about it. She passed my house without recognising me. Her love turned to solitude accepting its destiny of obliteration and void. Help me understand; have I forgotten you?