“How is it ?” he cried. “How is it that she left me so easily?”

“She never left you.”

“She’s not here anymore!” His fist banged on the table. “I cannot see her, touch her, taste her, hear her, smell her!”

“You mean to say, that she is not of your world anymore. But that is not of her doing. She is not a unique thing. Her vision is a sculpture, her skin is silk, she tastes like strawberries, and sounds like a soft waterful. Her scent is a metaphor of life. If she is not of your world anymore, that is of your doing! If you could only open your eyes and see, my friend, it was not her that left you behind.”