She saw me cry for the last time. The windows were open, fresh air coming through the window and we were sitting on the bed, staring at each other, trying to find something to speak. Someone had to go first or no one would go at all. I had a reason to be crying, something that made me sad. She was crying too. She was sad before me. Actually, she was the one who found the reason to cry. She found a place to be, somewhere where it always rained, that gloomy weather that she likes. She'd be happy but she'd leave me. 'I'll come back', she told me. And then there was silence again.
Silence is the key. It's the indicator of the crime. It was crushing us. I could feel it in me and I could see it in her eyes. But there were no words to be said. We stared at each other until one couldn't bear the look of the other person and would look down or to the side. I was done with crying, I had enough of tears. She came closer, enough for me to pull her and hug her, to hold her in my arms as we laid down on the bed. We spent the whole night like that. It could've been winter, I don't think either of us would move to close the window. It was just warm enough. It'd be cold before soon, she'd leave. That just wouldn't leave my mind.
The world was grey. It seemed like the world knew the grief within me. The night had passed and the day was as gloomy as she wished it to be. Just before dinner time I looked out the window and saw all the grey clouds passing by. A slow procession of rain to fill my mind, the tears of the long forgotten gods telling me that they knew. I held my left hand towards the window, hoping something would take me from there. But then I realized how stupid the idea was and got up to close the window. The air inside the room was cold enough and the rain didn't bring any consolation to the mind.
She bought me a lighthouse to guide herself when she came back. From out there, somewhere in the middle of the sea, vicious by nature, she'll return from wherever she went to. I planted the lighthouse on top of the highest cliff I found and prayed to the gods that she found out where I've put it. Not too high, not too low, maybe hidden by trees or clouds, the only thing important is that she returns, that she doesn't get lost, that she doesn't find new passions and forgets all about the light she left here. I sit and wait, I'm sure she'll return. Then the silence won't be disturbing, the words won't be knifes stabbing the back. She'll return and I'll hold her again, this time without the waiting, without the sadness, without the weight of the future coming in between us.
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