We stood together on a rug your mother had bought us from India.

It was absolutely beautiful. The stitch work, the imagery, the colors. It symbolized us, everything we were, everything we loved about one another. It was our sense of humor, our kindness, our words, our laughter, our tears, our love.

I could’ve stood there forever with you, arms wrapped around you. But you stepped off and pulled the rug out from underneath my feet.

I fell. Hard. And you weren’t there to catch me.