Tanasije Mladenović, known to all as Tasa, a Serbian poet of renown, died in Belgrade two days ago. Prostate cancer. Four operations. Painful death. I talked to him only two months ago and joked with him about his pain. My father’s age, he was one of my parents’ oldest friends in Belgrade. I learned about it yesterday evening, and I immediately called his wife, Olga. “The whole world is melting away,” she said. Indeed, Beli Ristić died last year. My parents died less than two years ago. Ervin Ginzberg died a decade ago or so. So many others from the same circle have departed already. Sitting in front of a candle, I cried long into the night. For Tasa, Beli, my parents, Ervin, and all the others whose faces crowd my memories of childhood. My world, too, is melting away.