When you're gone, the worst part isn't the loss itself. It's when I start forgetting you. First, your voice fades. Then, the details of your face blur. All that's left are patches of color. Red. Warm. Familiar. I try to hold onto you in my memory, but you're dissolving into pixels. And I look at these fragments and realize: this is all that remains of you. And it's so little. And yet, somehow, so much.