Picture of him

I bled a lot more today. I feel silly. But I feel free. Free to feel again.

The other night we were speaking of remembering. I said that in moments when we look at someone, experience the person with the specific intention of remembering the person and the moment, it doesn't always stay. Also, we sometimes take photographs to try to remember the moment. But photographs always come out two-dimensional, artificial representations that look nothing like the person and the moment.

As I was saying these things, I was looking at him - his face slightly pulled up one side from lying sideways on the pillow, his eyes softly looking at me as I was talking, backlit by warm light, the way his lips looked, the neatly trimmed shadow of his goatee. And I realised I was saving this sight for remembering, taking this picture in my mind.

And that's what I'm remembering now, what I've been remembering the past few days, and especially all of today. Him looking at me from the pillow in warm light. My real picture of him. I hope it will last.