A cold, empty room. A bitter smile, as she remembers long-ago events, promises that she would never be alone, as long as he was living. A shiver as the chill of loneliness touches her. Broken dreams of what might have been. Broken heart beneath an indifferent facade. Buried feelings, deep beneath the sand. Cries in the night, which she cannot control. Crowded thoughts, which she cannot banish. Careful movements, carefully observed. Door, never opened. Darkness, never fully dispelled by the lone bulb. Death, ever present. Emptiness which fills her. Existence, the curse of the living. Eternity, each moment here. Faith, long abandoned. Floundering without him. Falling, with nothing and no one to break the fall. Gray, her only color. Grief, her only emotion. Gone, but not forgotten. Heart long since turned to stone. Hurt renewed and fresh each day. He, always in her dreams. Insane, a label. Illness, an explanation. Incarcerated, her interpretation. Jumpy, once. Jittery, no longer. Jaded. Killed, while she watched, hidden. Killed, while she hid, helpless. Killed, and she screamed forever. Love, killed with him. Love, a cruel joke of fate. Loss, the only reality. Misery beyond imagination. Morbid thoughts which fill her mind. Mental anguish. Never love again. Never live again. Never never never. Overwhelmed. Out of control. Observed now, constantly. Pain deeper than any wound. Pictures frozen in her mind. 'Patient suffering acute dementia.' Quiet, empty hours. Questions forever
unanswered. 'Quality care for your loved one's mental health needs.' Right. Rain of tears at night. Rigid,
emotionless, during the day. Solitude. Solitary. Soft whispers of memory, refusing to be hushed. Time, drifting slowly. Tedium, endless. Touching and touched by no one. Uncertainty. Unknown, feared. Unbearably lonely. Very quiet now. Voices - his voice - in her ear. Visions before her eyes. Waiting, soon to be ended. Wandering, soon to cease. Whispers, soon to be silenced. X, a marked spot where her heart once beat. X-ray shows no cause. X across her name on the soon-to-be-emptied chart. Years of living a dying life. Yesterdays, catching up at last. 'Yes,' a whisper as she slips beyond.