She waited for an opening as she always did- an opening followed by a recognition. When she had it- that alignment between herself and him, she began to approach him and he began to approach her. He was usually surrounded, but he had no qualms about parting present company for wherever he had newly placed his attention. Sometimes all he could do was to turn his chest in her direction to signal he had found her. For whatever reason this is how she liked to come upon him- as if found.
And somehow he always found a way to turn his face toward her own fully- not minding that for a moment the person he was talking with would search his face looking to bring him back. And then he said her name, and each time he said her name it was just like music. All good things to her were just like music. She responded by saying his name, usually with a hint of sadness because for her anything worth its weight had a hint of sadness. She began to explain to him her regrets: she did not study enough; she did not remember enough; she was not enough.
She stood before him as she supposed ice would feel before a fire. And yet he said that he felt the same when he had left his teachers. He told her not to fret herself too much over it, but just to write it all down- everything she had not absorbed, but still wanted to. “That which has passed, has perished,” he said. All we can do is take what has not slipped through our fingers and wrap our fingers around it more tightly. “That which has passed, has perished,” he said with a slight smile and teary eyes.