Dear one,

Everywhere I go you are not. Everywhere you aren’t, I look for you. Today I saw your picture and the smile, in the sun, in an orange grove, made my heart pulse so violently, it skipped from my chest to my throat to my brain, beating me senseless. Your eyes were vacant. Tonight the radio plays only songs we used to sing and everyone has your name. Somehow, when I look in the mirror, I can’t see how I feel, except when I’m not expecting to catch my own reflection. The contour of pain is almost decipherable, like the meniscus of moon in earth’s shadow, like your smile is an approximation of happiness.