She

She had forgotten who she once was. She had forgotten who she once desired to become. She had forgotten her passions. She had forgotten her voice, forgotten how to sing. She had forgotten to see in color. She had forgotten how to live, and far worse, she had forgotten her reasons for wanting to live.
She first believed she had simply misplaced her voice, misplaced her passions and desires, misplaced her dreams .. . misplacement is far from loss and acceptance comes easier. And the loss had been gradual, unnoticeable at first. Days slid slowly into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into a year . . . the transformation now visible to others, for the loss had not been contained within, it spread like fire over her now, leaving only ash in the former place of all that once made her good.
Now numb, she had forgotten how to feel. Was this loss a chosen path? Was the change irreversible? These and others are questions she should have asked, yet these words were left unspoken in her mind, her own voice no longer heard. Her loss angered some and disappointed others. If only it angered her. No anger. No desire. No longing. No life. Just a bitter aftertaste of something now so removed it slowly slipped from memory. Forgotten, the feelings of the living. Forgotten, the notes of her song. Forgotten, the intonations of her voice. She would have forgotten to breathe if it had not come forced. She had forgotten to live. Time moved forward. Time and breathe became her world as all else darkened.
She lived in darkness. The absence of light her companionship. The voices heard now and then were not her own.

And then it was heard. One single note.