I sat in the chair, the one she always sat in, and reflected on all the conversations we had in this very room. The books she would always drone on about, her friendâs new bakery or even my lackluster days at work. They all seemed so distant, like her laugh echoing through these weary walls.
People constantly reminded me that as time marched on, the path to more of these conversations would grow shorter. But how would one know if infinity got smaller?










