On many nights, she would dream of his face, and even his scent, sometimes even his heartbeat and breath rhythm, and even his kiss—delicate tenderness that provided her with the deepest comfort in her dream. So clear, every part of him, the touch of his fingers, the warmth of his chest, the intense love and hate that made her wake up each night with a pillow dampened by tears.
That night, he really just let her go, standing there like a statue carved from hard ice, dumbfounded, allowing her to disappear into the night.
