Into my miserable self he sings,

ALICE

It was unusually hot. My skin perspired in sweat. I want to look up above, see if there's any clouds that could cover the scorching sun. But I can't. Not right now. Strangers other than the groundkeeper is here. 

I don't like strangers. Especially if they're surrounded with black patched strings. Either they hate their life and had too much pity for themselves or they're congested by uncontainable rage they can't see anyone as pleasant or likeable. 

The way they throw doubtful stares at me like the rest of the people who came by tell me it's the latter.

I couldn't care any less. Except for the groundkeeper who took care of me, all these strangers will come and go and move on with their lives. Forgetting any detail they thought up about me. 

At the corner of the tomb made of limestone, the white cat emerge and approach the basket warily. 

He smelled it. Ate one and handed me a piece. I started eating it too. Munching, savoring, the overall lukewarm and flavor of cookies is in the tip of my tongue. 

It's yummy. Unlike Kenneth's cookies whose always burnt and flaky and too hard to digest. 

After I swallowed the last piece, the groundkeeper handed me a bottle of water. I slowly drank its content. He gave one for the cat too. 

I'm sure the groundkeeper is saying something to his two companions. But my ears forced their voice shut. Idle talks don't mean anything. So there's no point in listening.

I closed my eyes. Trying to reach deeper into my memories. Unlocking my most treasured box of precious images. 

There, I found him. Sitting on his usual black couch by the window. His acoustic red guitar in his lap. He's strumming and humming. His voice pulsates around the room of our apartment, like the enthusiastic angelic voice of a singer in a thousand silent crowd. 

He turned and smiled. The sunlight basked him in golden hue. Highlighting his inky black messy hair, adding more vibrance to his electric blue eyes, the colors explode around him in bright yellow and orange fireworks. 

He looks like an angel. My one and only angel.

The expression on his face was the same as the pictures of him in my drawings. The smile continued to linger on his lips. Was he happy? Amused? By what? Of me? I longed to know but could not allow myself to ask. 

The moment he started to transform the beat into words, I struck my five inch pencil to the next page. 

(Found by Citizen Soldier)

♪ Have you ever felt lost ♪

♪ Like you don't matter at all ♪

♪ Like you were born just to be scared ♪

♪ All this fear deep inside ♪

♪ Does it burn to the surface leaving you gasping for air ♪

His eyes found mine and he melt me once again with his brilliant smile.

♪ Now you're walking alone ♪

♪ It's all that you've ever known ♪

♪ So sick of being the one betrayed ♪

♪ If you just take one more chance if you just open your eyes you'll find the purpose in your pain ♪

♪ Oh I know ♪

♪ There is purpose in your pain ♪

I traced his sitting figure on the couch with the guitar. Going forward into the intricate shape of his face, his shoulders, his fingers...

♪Oh I know ♪

♪ There is purpose in your pain ♪

♪ Do you feel already dead ♪

♪ Like you have no reasons left standing on the edge ♪

♪ And finally looking down ♪

♪ Like a candle in the night ♪

♪ Fighting just to stay alive ♪

♪ I know you still can't see ♪

♪ But hold onto me ♪

♪ You will be found ♪

I momentarily stop. He once told me he loved this song from his favorite band. He said they can put feelings that can't be shared, expressed nor showed to others into words. 

Heartfelt song with bullet striking emotions. At first, I don't get what he's saying. But now... the more I played it in my head, the more I understand why he likes them. Why he played them to me everyday. 

♪ You will be found ♪

♪ You will be saved ♪

♪ Just hear me now ♪ 

♪ I felt the same ♪

♪ You will be broken ♪

♪ But never to pieces ♪

♪ Keep holding on ♪

♪ There's always a reason ♪

He wants the message of this song delivered straight to the me who desperately need it. 

.

.

.

And he's right. I really need it. The picture of one person who this song referred to as "Will find me" in my agony, in my pain, in my bitterness, in my fears... is him. 

But now that he's gone... who will fill this deep empty void he left in my soul? I don't have anyone before him...nor after him.

So who will save me from my hell now? 

***

Hours passed and I still did not move from my current position. The cat found its way in my side. Curling against the white cloak the groundkeeper gave me.  

I want to touch. I want to share warmth. Comfort. Contentment. It doesn't matter who or where, I just need something to pour out this pent up feelings. 

For months without his presence has been so hard, I feel like I'm slipping into insanity. I sometimes find myself clawing at my skin. Trying to pierce my heart, cut my body open, tear my wrist apart - all for alleviating the torturous feelings of missing him. 

.

.

.

[Do you want to see him again?] 

A voice in my head asked. Husky, ethereal and at the same time smooth it somehow came out as familiar to me, which is strange since I've never heard this voice before. 

[There is a way. A possible phenomena that, when arranged by the god of death, will reunite your two souls together]

I cracked my tight sealed lips open. Which, for the past four months, had never uttered a single word. 

"Soul? Not bring him back?" I croaked. Evidently surprised I still know how to formulate words in my tongue.

[Yes, once a human has crossed the threshold, their soul can never go back. But in the haven of afterlife, there is a way. With the permission of the ruler of death, he can arrange a setup where you and your loved one can live together. Forever.] 

My lips attempted to curve upwards but my cheeks already turn to ice, it's almost impossible to put on a smile. 

"I've lived a life of abuse and human tool subjected to experiments. So too good to be true talks won't work on me." 

[I know. Let me show you something to make you believe me. But before that, I will reveal myself to you first.] 

The pages in the book, where I recently drawn Kenneth's singing figure suddenly flipped without me touching it. Back to the front cover. 

Kenneth gave me this book as a present. For drawing purposes, I know it's a sketchpad with white blank papers. Just ordinary... 

Yet now, I'm witnessing with my own two eyes how the plain abstract cover erased its colors, transforming into something red with cursive design at the center. 

Written in thick italic letters, THE BOOK OF STRINGS wrote itself as if there's an invisible hand with golden ink writing them. 

If I'm in my right state of mind, I would have screamed, tuck my tails, and bolt to ask for help. But I did nothing of those...

There's something so captivating and mesmerizing about the strange phenomena unfolding in front of me, I can't dare to take my eyes off it. 

After the great transformation, strong wind started to form at the center. At first, it took shape of a small tornado, then it grows and shot up straight I've toppled away from my original position. 

I cried out in pain. My feet that hadn't moved for the past four months make me incapable to walk. Just a slight press of a thumb sends unbearable pain directly to my brain.