The day that you passed was the only time I felt close enough to understanding why you are gone. It made sense to me because your hand was in mine. The curvature of your fingertip figured times tables into my palm that I will spend the rest of my life decoding.

Each day since then I question each footfall I conquer. For I can find your footprints upon this sandcastle heart yet all I see are my footprints being eaten by waves. Everyday has been a dislocation of hope, wondering why they took you and not me.

Asking my cells to work musical chair patterns to fine a cure for the algorithm I can't remember. Your nails. I remember them. Pictures. I have them still. You told me, in a house fire it is your 2nd item to grab. For a photo can't be recreated.

You never wanted to be recreated. So we cremated you. Burning ash tray loneliness into the humid smoke upon these lips. So why does it feel like I am jigsaw puzzling you back together in each picture. Attempting to take pieces of the past and walk into my future.

My feet are wet from walking through the watered down alleyways of yesterday. I have robbed myself, beaten the best senses senseless, and found my ****** self laid up in darkness. Interrogating the best reasons to walk into the light.