You’re far away. In a crowded, expensive city with your shiny hair and your rapid conversations. What I remember most are your bright orange slippers and your silver toes.
You’re dying. You told me so.
There isn’t so much to say. We haven’t spoken in a long time. When I think of you, I don’t feel all that I would have liked to. We aren’t friends exactly but we could have been. We’d have gotten along like a house on fire, I just know it. There just wasn’t enough time. Is there ever?
In the brief time where our lives overlapped, you told me you wanted to be travel. You held out your atlas and crossed out India and laughed. I hope you travelled more after.
Distances feel longer when things aren’t quite the way we’d like them.
I just thought you should know that I wish you didn’t have to die. You said you’re prepared and I hope you’re right. Good luck and I’ll be thinking of you.

The woman, in the house opposite ours, groans - long ragged sounds of pain and fear. She reaches out to nothing in particular, trying to hold on something I cannot see and, I am pretty sure, doesn't exist. Her daughter comes in sometimes. She wears a look of concern peppered with annoyance. She hands her a glass. I can almost taste the metallic warm taste of water. The woman wails softly, her papery fingers make eerie shapes in the light cast by the street bulbs.

She rests her head on the pillow but keeps sitting up every few minutes. She cries dry tears that come out raspy and harsh. The daughter asks her to calm down, a tad too loudly. The woman ignores her and beckons the emptiness to come closer. 

Somewhere between the devil's hour and dawn, she hugs the invisible man, her face glows with relief that he has finally arrived. He holds her hand and leads her away, his dark coat giving him an unnecessarily stately appearance.

When morning comes, the woman, or what used to be her, lies on the bed, motionless. Somewhere else, the real woman walks silently alongside the invisible man. In her mind, this is the beginning she had been waiting for. 

In the house opposite ours, people arrive dressed in white, offering flowers and condolences.