I wished I’ve got the guts to inquire about the pain. I should have tried to reciprocate and shared in your affliction. You seemed so distant and you’re looming in trickles of despair. I might have conquered the distance albeit immeasurable and an eternal journey. But none of me. None of the begotten temerity that cast awe and splendor among eyes of hallowed. None of the kindness and compassion that made sheaves of comfort among barren spheres. I wished I had you here beside me, in this studio, and feel with me this silence. As I try to hum the melodies of time and space to transport the oblivious and elusive memories of you. . . as I gently strike this bow before these strings of detachment to bond spans of futile restoration.