I realize I didn't write much about that day. But there's a part of me that wants to hold on to those memories, secret them away so they can't crumble in a whisper of dust.

Words take. They'll take the life and magic and strip everything down to the bare bone, and that's already happened to her.

Maybe that's a cop out.

Okay.Okay.

I can give the bones, the scraps of memory.

Sun like fire or a smile. Endless sky and afternoon and laughing breezes and fluttering leaves. Her shoulder (warmer than sunshine) against yours. Your voices and laughter floating on the air, carried off on the wind.

It's not perfect, I know, but it's the most I can give you right now. I'm giving everything I can.