I have always wanted a background score in my life. Preferrably a jazz tune with rain in the backdrop. If there was one, this is the moment when it stops.

From the corner of her room, sitting with arms wrapped around my knees, I watched her. I could the see the colour in her cheeks receding to the recesses of her hairline. She laid on the bed, sprawled, staring at the ceiling with her beautiful blue eyes.

There was something saintly in her repose. Her listless hands resembled one of those Renaissance paintings. Those hands which reached around to hug me in times of loneliness. Those hands which knew the secrets of the cheesecake I begged for. Those hands which ran through my hair and tickled my ears, on a lazy summer afternoon at a picnic by the riverside. And all that remained on them, were a deep scarlett slash, and the trails of wonderful life that dripped by.

Tears blur my vision. I can’t see the glint in her beautiful blue eyes anymore.