There’s the tenderest vibration of laughter’s unheard echo. The emptied out sensation of rooms that are left hollow. They left in their wake a trembling, fluttering, quake of nerves and pulse. A gentle sort of heartache and too long delayed impulse. It’s the sense of something fragile between happiness and sorrow. Something now is missing, some subtle nuance fled, has left behind vacuum of feeling in its stead. Like something half remembered that burns inside your head. Like the long forgotten passages of a book that you once read. Someone’s left the room and gone where you can’t follow.