From winter’s gray to summer’s sun, for over two cycles, until this day — the train of time has, without noticing, flown a thousand days. The pain is no longer so piercing. I once did not believe that time could heal all wounds, until, after wandering for so long through life’s ravines, I dreamed of her saying to me, “Goodbye.” Only then did I feel a tremor of realization — so much time had passed. Yet what is missing can never be lived again. How I wish I could have given her a proper farewell, in that winter three years ago — but how was I to accept, to digest, that silent, heavy, suffocating, unspoken grief, when I didn't even know until seven days later?
From the very beginning, I hid this pain in the deepest, darkest part of my heart. There was nothing there — most of all, no light; for if there was, I would catch sight of the last faintly glowing memories. Yet how I longed to cast even a single flash of light into that dark space, so that, whether ended up with smile or tears, I could at last draw breath. That black space I kept staring into swallowed me like an abyss, until, near suffocation, I awoke — and through a long, grinding struggle, found an exit. On the night she said “Goodbye” to me, the dark space released me.
Slowly I began to see what lay within it; it was not so terrifying after all. It was only a vessel of sorrow, and what it held had at last begun to loosen. And I thought, perhaps I could try to mend what was missing. If I am to bid farewell to her, who now said goodbye to me, I want to offer this ever-lit lamp. I'll break down the walls around that dark space into paper, capture the remaining beautiful memories as pictures, pour in the light that she once illuminated me with. Then I will retreat, layer by layer, leaving her protected still in this deepest part of my heart — only this time I will not seal the windows. Here, I wish the light will be lit forever.