As she walked away, down the street, the sun caught his eyes and for that blinding moment in the yellow haze he knew he was looking at the silhouette of an angel.

He stood there, oblivious to time.
Looking, without really seeing, watching the world pass on by.

What had it been?
A minute?
An hour?
Time was a concept lost to him.
And he preferred it that way.

It was the sweetest form of bitter parting there ever could be.
And that killed him.
There was a paucity of words.
There was no need for any.
For the best conversations are often had without words.

Memories flooded his mind.
He pushed them back.
But she pushed harder.

His walk faltered as he steadied himself.
He needed a cigarette.
He had quit smoking for her.
She hated the smell of smoke.
He smiled as he remembered the face she made when she caught him stealing a drag in the corridor.

He looked up, where had he reached?
He didn't care, he needed to walk.
He couldn't stop.
He had to run away from it all.
But who can run from their own thoughts
The thought of living in a world without her.
The thought of waking up every morning without the smile on his face for the conversations ahead.
The thought of never being with her again.

Haunted is the soul of the man,
Who's tasted love but then has lost.