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“There was a name. That was all. A name upon a piece of paper. The beginnings of a letter, started but never finished and pushed into a drawer and then forgotten about as all old and unhappy things had been forgotten with the coming of that spring. Yet, after the name had been read, and a false seed of suspicion planted, the sun of their happiness dipped behind a bank of storm clouds and the light which had bathed them faded. It did not fade immediately. Nor in a way which was recognisable at the start. It faded in long silences and crossed arms, in questions which came from nowhere and were answered awkwardly for their strangeness. It faded in kisses avoided and tired sighs, then finally in absences and then all was passed into darkness, though neither knew it until a moment in which they both turned to look for what once they had loved, and found it was gone.” — T.M Cicinski