"Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great." – Roger de Rabutin

He had spent much of his life infatuated with the insignificant. What greater fascination was to be found than what lay hidden within the unimportant? To many, there was no grand wonder to be found in an empty car seat. They didn't see what he saw. A glaring vacancy where once the entire world sat. Like a blackhole beside him, the empty space was weightier than anything he'd ever beheld before.

It pulled at his gaze hungrily. As the tires beneath him ate away at the miles, and the pavement at the rubber, his focus remained on the emptiness to his right. He stole glances at the road, only insofar as was needed to keep him in that moment. His life was precious, if only to preserve what time he had left with the vacant space. Intrenched in solitude, this was the closest he'd ever been to her.

The pattering of rain on windshield tapped incessantly against his psyche. Drop. Drop. Drop. A long wipe cleared his vision. Drop. Drop. Drop. His heavy breath fogged the view. Drop. Drop. Drop. He was closer now. Drop. Drop. Drop.

As the end of his journey approached, he found himself burdened by memories. Would he be happier now, had he known what was to come from the beginning? Would things have been different? He liked to think so. Liked to think that somewhere along the way, something simpler than divine misfortune had pushed him to this. Pushed the world to this.

Pearly teeth chewed at his lips as his brain chewed at the thought. Outside, the pavement turned to gravel. The car groaned in protest as rocks dinged its chassis, but his mind had no room for material woe. Inside there was an empty seat, and that was where his thoughts remained.

He had taken this journey long ago. Back then, the seat beside him had been held down by a much different passenger. To the world, just a face in passing. To him, the world itself. She had remarked that perhaps a detour was in order. That shaving fifteen minutes off their trip was not worth trading away their vehicles shiny polish. Stubborn as he was, he'd insisted that no trip worth taking came without a little mess.

She was there beside him then. The faceless space faceless no longer. An insignificant nothingness embodied by the significance of his everything. He could see her smile, as he had then. Could hear her laugh. He reached out for her hand, just like he had before. The leather seat returned the gesture, and again he was alone.

Beyond the confines of his reach, the sky had changed. Parting clouds took with them the rain, ushering in a single arc of light to brighten his path. The powerful emptiness beside him materialized ahead. Once again, the insignificant held prominence in his mind.

Months ago, a blanket had been there. The grass compressed; the dirt packed. Verdant blades stood in place, slicing through the wind as droplets of fresh fallen rain shimmied down their sides. He couldn't stand the sight of it. The emptiness called to him too painfully. With reluctance, he tore his gaze away. The car rolled to a stop, covering the ground as they once had so long ago. He should've killed the engine. He didn't have the heart. Its dull thrum was the only company he had.

When he stepped out, the grass soaked through his shoes.

"I'd sooner die than walk in wet socks," he heard her say.

The smile her words brought accompanied him to the rear of his car. He searched the trunk for a time, hiding from the wind that had brought the message to him. He couldn't bear to see the words were delivered by the void. In the darkness of the trunk, he could pretend she was beside him.

When his lie could last him no longer, he grabbed what he needed and pulled himself free. Footsteps uncontrolled carried him further along the gravel path. There, a cliff edge beckoned to him. He approached with little in the way of trepidation, but even less in enthusiasm. It was a subdued walk. The humble marching of a bitter man.

He sat on the precipice, letting his feet dangle over the drop. At his side his parcel sat with him. An arm snaked its way around it, holding it as tenderly as he would a child. To passerby he would seem a crazed man. A lost soul clinging to a package as though it held his heart within. Perhaps he did.

Beyond him, a beautiful vista of gold and grey sprawled to the horizon. On one side, a city rose. On the other, a field of wheat extended beyond reach. He had always preferred the sea of grain. It was simple and vast. Mysterious in the way it hid what lay beneath. The city had always bored him. He'd seen many like it. Though it held a grander purpose, it had always lacked something in his mind. Today was different. Today, he couldn't tear his eyes from it.

"I'll build one like it one day," she whispered beside him.

"I know," he replied. "And it'll be perfect."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Hers faded when he felt the wetness in his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied, "You're just beautiful."

Her hand, ghastly and pale, reached for his tears. Her fingers moved to wipe his face clean, but they only fell harder when her touch became mist on his skin.

"I've missed you, Percy," she murmured.

A choked laugh was his only reply. In vain he reached for her hand. When their fingers touched, he felt not flesh but paper. He ran his fingers across her name, relishing the way each letter felt beneath his skin. Never before had things so simple felt so important. Felt so much like what he'd been needing.

He closed his eyes and saw the storm clouds he loved. They comforted him more than the city did. He thought of them, thought of her, as he tore the paper away. Cold clay chilled his fingers, but he felt only the warmth of the sun. A hand fell on the lid, and her face appeared before him again.

"I'm not ready to lose you," he admitted to her.

"If you were, then there would be no loss."

Her lips pressed against his, and his eyes clenched shut. Tears continued to fall, and his hand trembled at the mouth of the urn. He wasn't looking, but he could feel her nodding. With a muted cry, he dipped his hand in and used it to cast her away. He couldn't look, but he knew she was gone. All that remained was her name beside him. It was insignificant to most, but to him it was all that would ever be.

"Absence is to love what wind is to fire," heheardhersay, "it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great."

It gave him little solace. He knew the words did not belong to her. But inside something raged, and the words she never spoke gave that something a name. It was a great fire that burned, and maybe, just maybe, that was the point.