There, a sick little finger sat with veins and skin, on a hand that used to say so much (It doesn't exist anymore). A long time ago, you could see how it might have moved slightly, pulsed occasionally, and touched. There, underneath a couple feet of immalleable congestion, a pair of eyeballs rang with such phonetic power, that today it might give you shock (They're silent now). And, of course, a smile (that no longer holds its power) could comfort you for longer than the average mouth.

Yet, the smile, eyes, skin, and veins, and sick little finger may still be, for she who holds them is real as can be.

But surely, she is gone now, as two feet of soil is no different from two years of distance.