And there he sat with the window open and his big heart, closed.
The stars were somehow dimmer, the moon just a speck in the overbearing sky.
Someday, somehow this will be better.
The music stopped, and the laughter from the children out on the streets was barely a whisper.
His sigh was carried out into the night.
There was something about this simple whimper that made the night go on forever.
And he just sat there with nothing but tears to accompany him as he smoked his Cuban cigar.
It was over.
And all that was left was what had been.