Before, there was silence, then there was none. Now, there is silence. Deeper. Piercing. She allowed me into her space, her sacred places, where she allowed herself to be vulnerable with me. I was part of her silence, inhabiting it from within. I am still a part of it. From without. It is cold and all too quiet where she is not. I remember her, like waking from a dream, seeing the colourful fragments that comprised it, before it was shattered. Her colours have turned to shadows. I can still taste her memory, fragrant and jovial. This is surreal. She was here a moment ago. Or, was she? Maybe I am dreaming and if I close my eyes and drift, I will wake up.