Empty clouds rumble and roar across the encompassing skyline. Various shades of grey decorate an otherwise unimpressive tapestry. As the night rolls on, however, so does a wave of darkness. One drop here. One drop there. Before too long, the entirety of pavement is filled with millions of sparkling droplets, like little shattering crystals across a silver plane.
He stands quietly, eyes closed, taking in the moment within the thickness of the liquid blanket. Slowly, he breaths in. Slowly, he breaths out. Slowly, as the rest of the world disappears, he becomes the only person alive. A strangeness so unsettling that, if it were true, he still wouldn't care.
This is where they first met. The first time he heard her voice.
Her eyes flutter open like the soft wings of a butterfly in the morning. It leaves him feeling breathless, almost cold but in a comforting way. Like the way he feels after they embrace, when they hold each other in peril. He can see the brightness within the dark of her pupil. And he can't help but turn the corners of his lips, hoping her thoughts are the same as his.
The memory is brief, a flash of images and past emotions he thinks are long forgotten. It leaves him cold and unable to remain.
It was a mistake to come back to London.
No matter how often he can still see her, Rose is gone. And she isn't coming back.