The amount of pain you give to me is equivalent to the amount of love I feel for you. This suffering of my wounds, starving heart, and bleeding flesh! Imagine! The eagle that now has an empty nest, her eyas’ all gone, do you think when my kisses leave your neck and my smell changes to mortality and monotony, that we will miss each other? I, at 16, will miss you. Everything I promised all those years, if they don’t come to pass, know I still meant them when I said them. Your hand will be in mine, forever 16, when we are 32, and your body isn't near. Kiss your children’s heads and remember what we were going to name ours. Don’t hesitate to call me. The 16 year old is waiting, but I no longer am. Remember me! Please! Remember me! I’m screaming, clawing, begging! There she is. Call me?