With elation, he welcomed madness into his embrace as he lay on the old, rickety sofa covered with a beautiful quilt. When Miyonke woke up from his afternoon siesta, he became conscious of his own smile. He let out a chuckle. He imagined that he had been dreaming of something blissful and sweet that had cheered him up. But then he no longer possessed any recollection whatsoever of what the dream had been about; the only things he could comprehend were the feelings, a kind of happy without a memorable beginning, and the joyful remembrance of a forgotten subject that he was left to nurse. 

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As he lay there on the verandah of his house at the edge of the city, he became possessed by the past, longing for what could have been. A trembling travelled from his toes exposed to the late afternoon chill up to his shoulders. He shivered and shuddered at the sudden invasion from the unholy alliance of the spurts of his own memories and brief rushes of cold wind. Anesu was back, standing in front of him like he did on their last morning together. 

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"What about us? What about me? What's going to happen?” Miyonke had pleaded on that confusing June morning. Anesu had jumped out of bed, walked over to the dressing table, and swirled a glass of whiskey. From behind him, Miyonke breathed with impatient heaviness as he fervently awaited Anesu's response to the subject at hand. He dreaded it. It made his forehead and brow furrow, and whenever they spoke to each other in such desperate tones his eyes would be glazy, there was always a look of more powerlessness than sadness, that explains the ever ready tears. Anesu gulped what was left of the whiskey and toyed with his phone, held up a quilt and rubbed it with his index and thumb. Nonetheless, Anesu could not continue to ignore Miyonke's audible frustration. He could hear the breaths of anticipation and feel Miyonke's eyes fixated on him and that persistent wait for an answer. 

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Finally, Anesu responded, "I wish I knew. I pray there is an answer. It's difficult for me too; please, I plead with you to understand." he said, “I wish things would be different but you and I have almost no control over that”.   

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He jumped onto the bed, crawling until his face was a breath away from Miyonke's own. With his rough palms, he pulled Miyonke's face close. "At this point what matters is what you and I have shared. It is not over. I love you Miyonke. I will not forget you”. He pulled their faces together, brushing his lips against the tip of Miyonke's nose and his lips. They kissed and embraced, letting out their tears and sorrows. The tightness of their embrace was a prayer and the joy that flowed from their faces became like a sermon delivered at the end of the world, so inappropriate and yet offering a gift of eternal comfort. The pain lingered, and so did the beautiful romance that stayed in Miyonke's heart. 

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As the sun dipped into the hills beyond the bush, it left a hue of fading blue and darkening orange. The cacophony of sparrows and chickens going to roost sounded like a vocalised psalm. The sound of distant music from the neighbours' houses and the gurgling stream flowing close to his backyard became an evolution of the wordless tune, so mournful and yet harbouring in each rising note gleeful nostalgia. How wonderful it was to end a memory with a promise that was a blessing to his lonely heart and gifted him solace.