
The cool marble floor helped, it really did.
She rested her cheek against it, her entire being curled up in a ball upon the silver shine of floor.
Silence filled the room, and the buzz of the radiator could no longer be heard.
This silence, this lack of noise, was overwhelming.
She heard no footsteps, no one changing in the other room, no one frying her those scrambled eggs.
It was as though time had been stolen from her.
It was no longer a day, a week, a year - no longer a continual life - but solely a moment.
She was trapped in the camera's blinding flash, trapped in this moment,
nothing more, but a snapshot, a photograph.
But this was not a photograph she wanted to keep, no, she wanted to move beyond this, this falsified forever that seemed like reality.
"Where are you?"
She whispered, cheek turning cold from the kiss of the marble.
Her wet raven hair fell across her face, but she could feel nothing, not the cold, not the wetness.
Her senses no longer remembered even her own scent, and that terrified her.
Her hair engulfed her, covering her eyes and shielding her from the reality of the moment.
A day before, he'd been here, he'd been in existence.
He'd been right in this very apartment, his heat and warmth filling the rooms, taking up space.
He'd be working at his favorite solid oak desk when she'd pounce on him from behind, dropping kisses upon his cheek, and in return she'd receive a half smile and a tender glance - it was always enough for her.
He'd wake up before nine, just to get the scrambled eggs done right - with parmesan cheese and milk, peppered with love.
Coffee would be right beside her when she awoke, or sometimes she'd do the same for him instead.
Their lives outside the apartment never intertwined, never met. Different worlds, others had said, two souls that would never coincide.
But she knew, he knew, that once within these brick walls, they would have each other again.
It was that very comfort that made each day better, each pleasing day even more excellent.
The fact that when she returned, she'd be embraced by love, by affection - that he'd give his time to her, that he'd be there for her to dote on - that she could do anything she wanted for him, and welcome his love in return.
But now, now all that was left of this life, was the marble floor, and her of course.
It was all that remained, all that survived the duality of human nature, all that had withstood the tragedies of life.
All that had endured past the broken hands of the clock,
desolation.
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