The shake sends you struggling for safety. Poignant moments have graciously caught you unprepared. But you know it's part of what happens. So you accept it. Almost immediately thereafter, you despair into an absurd belief in telepathy; incomprehensible even to you. Anything necessary for comfort. Deep down, you know actions are easily justified. Despite predictable outcomes, you do them anyway. You enjoy them anyway. Isn't it wonderful? It's what happens. You loved her with all your brain. Nothing else to say. You can write short stories about her hair in the mornings or dedicate poetic pieces she'll never read. You can even retrace the most significant memories from the start until seconds before you question the actual validity of events. A darkness seizes you. You remember writing "Kiss Me", but you'd rather forget.
