He closed his eyes, let the music pull the air back into his lungs, and finally began to breathe. If you'd like to continue the story, let me know: Should Mark immediately?
Mark stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by the silence of a house that used to be loud. He didn't move. He just stared at the small, silver MP3 player sitting on the butcher-block island.
The song wasn't a ballad. It wasn't a tear-jerker. It was a low, steady cello suite they had heard once in a subway station in Prague. It was the music they had danced to in the rain while waiting for a train that never came.
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