Loss keeps on growing

One result of the death of my best friend Franco is that I lose his share in Rome. Ever since I was eighteen, going to Rome or staying in Rome (when I was in Britain, or in the Army) meant going to be with him, talk with him, watch him draw. And I now realize that this was the most lively, the most alive part of my experience of Rome (I am not a Roman, after all). With Franco gone - and other friends gone before him - I have nothing in Rome except my family. I no longer have a link to the place as such. Without him, it's just a place - and without his voice, an unbearably lonely and silent one.