All that is left are the painted memories...
The few canvases that I have were blank...
Now, I paint them with memories of him...
of us.
Will I get a chance to give them, before I go?
Or, will they be delivered by a postal worker... A stranger? That they will have no idea what memories are painted inside...

Will he keep them?
Will he miss me?
Miss me enough to reach out to me?
Before I have to leave?
To make love to each other?
Even one last time?

I continue to paint the memories.
On the canvass...
With my tears...