I'm standing on the stairwell of a tenement. These creaking stairs not so long ago played a concert under the weight of our shoes. Now, that sound stretches like a string a moment before it snaps. Cracked walls surround my body, and on them are black stains - did this building burnt down? Or did our consuming fervor leave its mark?

It's too late now to sprinkle ash on my head. Behind closed eyes, images boil and flicker on my eyelids like a black-and-white film in a Parisian theater. Every time I close them, I begin to understand more clearly why they say love is blind. I should have listened... but in that moment, your presence dazzled my eyes. Now suffering encircles me like the thorny tendrils of a vine, pinning me in place. Every movement brings pain that only subsides when I freeze, like a statue. In this forgotten garden, I will stand for an eternity, if time really does heal wounds.