I made a point of reading everything he wrote; or, more precisely, everything he wrote that I could get my hands on; alas, being cursed with an evil memory, I had also remembered everything he wrote. Right down to what he told me when I asked what brought about a particular piece of poetry or another. I was proud to be his biggest fan; still am.
One particular piece, amongst the many, keeps hounding me, in the most hopeless of ways; he once said to her: "you never knew the art of numbers. Had you known, then you'd have also known that any number becomes zero when you are taken away from it".
He left. To a better place I'm told, and I hope to be; he left me grieving for him for the rest of my days, and left her dead in the world of the living.
QED
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