I move to sit on the sofa. I collapse into its worn embrace, my arrival and landing celebrated with a burst of festive dust. No cough comes; my lungs are too tired to make the effort.

She doesn’t look tired, resting there. It’s where she wanted to be. This place called to her across the years, beckoned us back. The trip took too long, too many diversions along the way. We strayed far, yet it remained.

My eyes survey the room, seeing little in the dim light beyond evidence after evidence of time gone by. A cobweb stretches from a lamp to the wall, adorned with dust. The room pronounces what the whole house would perhaps say, that it is done.

Fear quickens my heart but a little. I would leave, flee this dreary ending. My limbs attempt to do my bidding yet fail. The sofa holds me fast, or perhaps it is merely time. A final panic sweeps me, urges me once more to rise and carry on.

I do not. How can I?

She is still, and so am I. Together we stay, stilled and old, finally to depart.