I remember the smile on your face when you looked at me. I remember the look in your eyes, the brilliant spark that contained infinity and love and everything worthwhile, and I can’t stop thinking about what I could have done to keep you here.

And then I realize that I’m not remembering; I’m looking down at a picture of you, your face shining up at me. You’re sitting at the beach, perched on a towel in front of our sandcastle. You’re wearing a big farmer’s hat with a loop around your neck that hangs loosely down, and a long green dress over your bikini. And now I can see how gorgeous you look. Your face is carved out of perfection, your body is etched out of silk, and I miss you. I miss you. Oh, God, I miss you.

You were too lenient. God damn, you should have told me I had screwed up! You should have told me what was happening before it was over, why didn’t you tell me…

And now, for whatever karmic satisfaction Buddha or God or whoever gets out of this, all I have left to look at you by is this picture.