The notes fly freely
Across the empty hall.
No cheering crowds.
No encores.
No applause.

A single chair,
A naked stage,
Six metal strings,
A broken soul.

The melody unravels,
Slowly dancing;
Becoming an accomplice
To his memories.

Four tape crosses on the floor
Painfully mark
The silent void
Where a second chair
Shall be no more.

Fine drops of crimson
Splatter the floor
As his raw fingers
Dance madly
On the fretboard.

A cheerful wave.
A playfully blown kiss.
A naughty smile.
A closing door.

No words spoken.
No goodbyes.

The coldness of her epitaph
Delivered with a single text
On his phone’s screen
Burns deep into his soul.

“There’s been an accident.”