your soul is in heaven, but your memory remains

I remember this day. We had started really enjoying going to the park together. Scratch that--we enjoyed getting Tiger's Yogurt, a worn-0ut blanket, and plopping near surely polluted water to feast and talk about life. Monique loved photography and I was dedicated to help her move along. I bought her two rolls of polaroid film and helped her get her fisheye film developed. But let's not talk about that, let's talk about this day.

I remember her taking shots of me and cringing at the developed product.

"Monique, I look ugly."

"I think you look beautiful. Can I keep it?"

That was the thing about her. She had a way of making you feel like everyone should be lucky to know you, it didn't matter what cycle you were on. She always made me feel like anything was possible, that we could accomplish our dreams, and in some magical way we could share it together. I miss the way she smiled, the way she played with her Medusa piercing, and especially I miss her laugh. Sometimes, out of blue, I can hear her and I know somewhere out there, she's laughing with me.

It doesn't feel like in forty-eight minutes it will be two years since she died. It's the strange case when you lose someone close to you that you always have to remind yourself that they're gone. When I think about the way we ate too much sushi or the nights we spent wondering about boys in her room, it's not the timeline I think about but the warmness of the memory. I will always love her like I just saw her yesterday.

I miss the way she picked up the phone and how she sounded when she said, "hello?"

The way she would text me and say, "I'm awake :)"

The way she hugged and how she had to tape the side of her glasses.

I wish every year on the date, we could see her. That I could walk through the clouds and give her a hug and tell her that I love her. That I was still working on making her proud.

Every good thing anyone has ever thought about me, I owe to her.

I miss

I miss

I miss

I miss the memories so much that my brain can't recall them all.

One, however, will always be fresh:

Laying in her bed, she was sick then and couldn't keep herself from apologizing for not acting like herself.

"Leigh?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be too much to ask for you to hug me?"

I never thought that would be the last time I saw her or the last time I ever got to hug her.

I can't make this eloquent or the center piece for the morning paper.

Truthfully, as the months go on I lose the eloquence for the words regarding her. She just becomes emotions, memories, and a feeling that thumps through my veins.

I love you, Monique.