He sat with the sentence as if it were the only true thing left in the room. "Yes," he replied. "I am here."
There were nights he could not sleep because memory came to visit in jagged pieces. He feared the shape of who he might become when the last of her recollections slipped beyond reach. Would he still exist in the way she had loved him? Could he stand, in a room full of photographs, as someone’s companion whose face had blurred out of an album? dass070 my wife will soon forget me akari mitani
"Who is this?" she asked, soft as weather. He sat with the sentence as if it