Ariana's dark curls fall on the white pillow of our bed. She lies there, sleeping as her dark lashes rest on her pupils, I lift my hand to brush aside a lock of hair that hinders my appreciation of her beautiful face, and tuck it behind her ear. I run my fingers down her cheek and gently trace the outline of her jaw. She wakes up, stirs from the feel of my hand and soon begins to open her eyes. I find no sparkle in her gaze, no color, no sense of life in them, except for a pair of empty sockets that startle me and make me relive the pain.

I awaken from the damned bittersweet dream, only to realize that my reality is more bitter than that which while I sleep reveals itself in my subconscious. Back to the life of flesh and blood I observe the room unscathed, everything in its place, without traces of dust or traces of anyone living here.

It's as if the whole house is completely ready to be shown to a buyer, which does tempt me... partly. But, on the other hand, I couldn't tear myself away from the one place that looks like this nest of memories, which, though they torment me, sometimes give me the peace I need to soothe the despair and the need to do something against myself.

According to my attending psychiatrist, I need to be surrounded by activities that do not allow me to become eclipsed in self-pity and suffering. Which has led me to get a new obsessive-compulsive cycle in my life, keeping the house spotless is like a hobby for my head. I think, then I clean...

It's been five months since the first and last time I attempted suicide. It's been seven months since she, the love of my life, passed away. Since I got out of the hospital I've had people from a support group saturating my cell phone with text messages. They want me to join their little club as if that will be the solution to all my problems, and although Dr. Kent insists... I don't want to.

I wake up from a long sleep and check the old-tech cell phone, but at least it's good for calls and SMS. As I suspected, I have two messages inviting me to attend the support group this afternoon. One is from Kent and one is from the leader of "New Beginnings" the place they want to drag me to. I ignore them.

I walk to the kitchen and start my day with the usual ritual, making myself a black coffee and a double ham sandwich. Next to the coffee pot, Ariana's picture rests adorning the bare spot. I take everything out of the refrigerator and put it on the breakfast bar, sit down on a stool and start preparing everything. Just as I finish making the sandwich, the coffee is ready.

I eat breakfast in silence, one that is deafening and annoying. I can hear every bite I take of breakfast and it's even uncomfortable for me. I allow myself to think about her, about the day I took that picture. It was overcast from the recent rains and it was cold outside, the autumn wind had done its thing and thousands of yellowing leaves covered the ground everywhere I looked.

That day, in the morning, the doctor spoke to us to ask us to go to him immediately. The diagnosis he gave us was irreversible and incurable, I felt like dying at that moment, she was hopeful. He said nothing about the inevitable fact that she was going to die, no, quite the contrary. When we left she acted so normal, she asked me to take her to breakfast, I did. Then she asked me to take her for ice cream, I did. She asked for blueberry, I asked for cheese with blackberries.

Then she asked me to go grocery shopping, we went. She acted like we hadn't gotten the second worst news, no, the first. If I once thought the worst news was that we could never have children, this one beats it by far. I would have preferred a lifetime without children, but with her.

Once the shopping was done, she asked me to go out for wings, I told her that was not food, but a delicious snack. All the way to "Hot Alita's" we argued about whether it was food or a snack. When we got there we sat at the same table as always and ate our fill. She was full, I was full.

On the way home we passed by a park carpeted by the remains of autumn, she asked me to stop and I could only obey everything she told me, I was like her faithful eunuch following her everywhere waiting for the moment to serve her, because she was my queen. She took me to the games and dragged me with her until she convinced me to play, and to get on a swing. She laughed a lot, I did not.

In a moment of tiredness from the coming and going of the day she went and lay down next to a tree, admiring the sky, while the leaves fell parsimonious until they adorned her hair. The image was perfect, I just wanted to steal that moment from the present and try to frame it to capture it in eternity.