Everyone wants to be remembered. When we leave here, this room, this city, this world, what will we leave behind? A yearbook photo that I look nothing like? That wasn’t me, make sure you know that I hated that picture, that managed to capture everything I am not. I looked at my pale face plastered between a dull blue background almost the same colour of that gown I was drenched in. Didn’t you know that my favourite shades of blue were that of the lively sky and the diamond ocean as they melt into one, as they both lose their glimmer? And my eyes, edgeless and uneventful. They caught it just in the middle of me blinking, half open, half closed. I guess it depends on how you look at things, but I, I looked at things skeptically, wide eyed and cynical. Always wanting to see more, beneath the surface, beneath that faulty smile, who were you? Maybe if I lean in a bit I would notice more, maybe in your writing I would learn why your hands fumbled as it reached to dot an i or cross a T. You are a question mark, and so am I and we will never know what we leave behind until we learn each other over and over again. But that takes time, so maybe there might never be a full room standing before me but I know it will never, ever be empty.