Melancholic comfort, to say the least.
A friend of mine had been going through stupid relationship problems. So I wrote this for her.


She idly ran her fingers along the wall as she walked endless carpets of radiant crimson, her body persuaded with only enough strength to carry itself upright, her mind muddling in desolate marshes which confused the heart, afflicting in it a sort of homesickness. When occasionally she slipped into physical awareness she would muse upon how life had become so misguided, like the way her touch passed roughly from the smooth grooves between stone over stone itself, and this flung her deeper into despair. Sodium sour sweat drained through every pore of her skin. She stopped, almost uncaring of how near she came to colliding with one of the many silk and velvet ottomans which lined the halls, and stood; brooding, lost. She vaguely felt as though every airborne particle had gained ten times its own mass and now oppressed her, conspired with others to bury her alive.
Alive. Four words danced on her brain, mockingly, escaping comprehension.
"You're both still alive."
Their meaning could be only momentarily understood before dashing against unrelenting ramification, majestic torrents of water splayed by surface tension at the bottom of the falls.
Of course we're both still alive, ostensibly anyway, she thought. Of course you tried to imply that this and this virtue alone is the stadium we could blindly play at and still have a winning chance. Really, does it matter now? Our souls are still in motion and our sensations open, nature hasn't ended us yet; we still exist individually. And is the soul brought into being by the union of ours alive? Does it still beat steadily as my heart? Does it still flow with his love as its lifeblood? Each sentence was more difficult than the last, fatiguing her to exhaustion. The cushion made no sound as it broke the graceful collapse.
Residing in haunted heavens, the sun flared in a way that laughed at the sad contrast of dying gardens beneath a sky which foretold this day to be joyous. Full notes bled from their place among the staff to mix with the ink of bass and treble clefts, sometimes running down green stalks on which they bloomed, sometimes fleeing in mid-air to dissipate slowly as they wailed their last iridescent tone. Actors without roles walked aimlessly and inquired to trees for direction. Singers whispered, artists became simplemindedly amused in making hand puppets. Entire pages of books went blank, or were overwritten with words not theirs. She sat on a stone bench feverishly transmuting one such text, but her pen could not catch the letters as quickly as they escaped. The sentence previously fixed flitted inch by inch until it wafted in front of her, 'We knew then that we were one', altering itself to read, 'We knew then that we were two', before dutifully returning to the page.
"I can't do this alone, I need you!" She said, lips quivering.
After strumming his lute for the Uranus song-traps and promising a long, sturdy talk with Lord Byron, he disappeared beyond the marble willows and hadn't come back. Sensing disharmony, offset by neglect, it took but a short while for the paradise they cultivated together to slip away from equilibrium.
Disquieted fingers turned another page, dropped the pen at its sight. Scrawled over and over were the words 'You're both still alive.' She tried to stand but could not. Knees buckled, legs stiffened, her chest heaved five feet outward and contracted six inward. The only manageable recourse was to cast the book astray, which happened upon and clearly squashed a lost little B minor. It passed poco a poco with a solemn innocence that would have brought tears to many more eyes than those of a musician.
Her words came out in gasps. "T-this isn't life! Thi-s is death! Dyin-g! He left me! H-he l-eft me the world a-and he left it to withe-r! I am withering!"
Withering. Withering. Foggily echoing, the words transforming, now heard from without.
"Wake, Irene! Wake up, Irene! Irene!"
A strong wind had begun to push her... or was it a hand?
"Look, May, she's rousing! Irene, are you alright?"
She became dumbly aware of the voice and it drew her up, up like a tin bucket from the bottom of a well as it carried away but the last dreamy semblance to be poured somewhere above ground.
"Hunhh... Melinda, May," Irene slurred, "How long was I asleep?"
"Well! May, how long do you reckon?"
May's face became animated. "Some two hours at the first call for supper, methinks. Dagon guessed at that you might be sick, seeing you been lazin' all about the kitchen lately, so he thought to leave you be instead of having you coughin' and weezin' all over the king's food. 'Imagine his majesty losin' battle to little girls when he's fighting a war out yonder!' he says! 'Can't have none of that!'"
She burst into a fit of giggling while Irene helped herself in rising, slowly but surely regaining drained energy.
"Did he say anything about me?" Irene asked to neither of them in particular.
The more sober girl answered. "Who? Is it Arthur you're talking about?"
"Yes. Did he?"
At this Melinda arrested her friend's shoulder, bringing her to ease. May was immediately silenced.
"Irene, dear, Arthur's gone off with his father, he ain't say where and we ain't expecting him back. You'll be best to have your cry and then forget about 'im, that's what I think."
"How can I live without Arthur? How!"
"I said the same when Dagon back-snagged the danish I went snaggin' off with at the midsummer celebration!"
"May... I'm serious!"
Melinda sat beside Irene and gently took hold of her hand. "Oh, she's just tryin' to cheer you up. And you look like you need it, too. We saved a whole ton of things for you on account we suspected you ain't just layin' about sick."
"Really?" She spoke through lessening sobs.
"May, tell her what we got!"
"And snagged!" May added. "Let's see... 'sparagus, ham, a whole turkey leg, pork..."
Irene's interest piqued a bit as her tears dried. "Tart?"
"Tart!"
"Cheese?"
"Four kinds!"
"Cider?"
"Melinda drank it all."
Melinda went red. "I did not!"

That... was kinda impressive. Seems like she has at least one good friend! I don't understand if it's some story that is supposed to cheer her up or give her insights or something though. Is it based on things that happened in her life?