He loved her. A blind man. She was light and colour to him. He sensed her moves, he sensed her toss her hair; he sensed, for he knew, her smile. There was that singular dimple which he'd kiss, and he knew the way those cheek bones rose when she smiled.
He sensed it as they glided over the floor. This was a pious emotion, for her rhythm banished the darkness from his mind. In his mind's eye he still saw her. He recalled the lone lock of hair which forever resisted the multiple brushes behind her ear. He smiled broadly at the thought of her cheeky one-liners as she sought to contain herself.
Those evenings were gentle. A mild climate and clean air nourished their young beings as they sat reading in daylight. Relentless powercuts meant they read only till sundown, but they would talk forever. She was his best friend.
They grew, and grew apart. He gained and lost, moved on, reminisced and forgot. She loved a man, who broke her heart. But then perhaps, she thought of him...her best friend.
Tree-capped streets and thoughtful walks was what he missed most now. Home again, he felt his way in the perpetual darkness. Perhaps she'd know where he was and come looking for him. Perhaps she would read to him on her balcony. Ten years. Had it really been that long?