I see you in slow motion. I can see spring light breaking through the ***** windows straight on to your brooding face. Your concerned eyes are wide and have never looked so beautiful. They remind me of those emeralds you found so long ago. You gracefully fall down that old stair case. Your tiny frame starts to tumble as though you were a part of a dance. The smell of unpolished wood is pungent. I see you recognise your last moment. We both knew it was going to be like this.
He is not in the frame.