The clock kept ticking. The days still changed. Sun and moon came and went. But no matter how much he had aged, the past was what he lived.
A melodic voice, so familiar, whispered sweet nothings into his ear. He could swear that strands of fiery red hair brushed his cheek. He turned, looking for the angel that haunted his memories.
Nothing.
He was hollow, left only with the deadly scene, playing, pausing and rewinding. Each cycle hit him harder, destroyed him further. The mere thought of living, while she was not, drove him to insanity.
Grabbing at the air, he tried to feel her. He was pathetic, holding on to a rope centimeters long, a piece of hope that would always control him. Each day, the rope slipped, but with all his might, he kept hanging.
Far in his mind, he knew that she wouldn't return, that the tears wouldn't change anything, and that time would not fix everything. Still, he couldn't help thinking that she was out there, watching him, making sure she would never be forgotten.
And never forgotten she would be.