This is the two thousand, three hundred and seventy-first poem he has read to his wife. After the illness began slowly erasing Narina’s memory, he decided to read her a poem every morning to keep that memory alive.

Before going to sleep, Ranto writes verses for Narina—sometimes finished, sometimes no more than a title. Age has made him less productive than he once was. Gone are the days when he gladly spent hours hunting for the one word that matched his feelings. Or the days when no word ever felt entirely right. Even on those days, Ranto insisted on sitting down to write until, without his realising it, the poem arrived, fully formed. But since Narina lost her memory, Ranto has had to give his days to watching over her and caring for her.

His children and grandchildren visit only occasionally, since their jobs keep them outside the city of T. Except Nirwan, his eldest, whose house is not far from his own. Together with Nirwan, Ranto cares for Narina, whose condition worsens by the day. On Monday, Narina might forget her own name. On Tuesday, she might forget Nirwan. On Wednesday, she might remember, once more, her beautiful days with Ranto. On Thursday, she might recognise neither Ranto nor Nirwan. The memories keep fading, but Ranto grows only more certain that Narina will be healed by his poems each morning.

• Tags: fiction, Indonesia, Issue 45, Wawan Kurniawan