Most phone calls come unexpected but he got this one at work.
It was a stammering announcement.
His colleagues saw how his face fell, how he put down the receiver, how he got up slowly and went to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and a few moments of rest.
The stories in which she featured tumbled all over each other. He heard her voice say that it was fine the way it was. He saw once more how she sat on the edge of the balcony looking down without seeing anything.
Quietly he had hoped that she would never really do it. But now she had.
They found a note on her bedside table.
The next day her friends laughed, smoked, cried and drank at her grave. Her parents were not there.
That evening he wrote a poem with her in mind:
Like Time
I pause
at your words and your grave
that I carry with me
on the endless road
to nowhere
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