The ancient gnarled trees loomed like still sentinels against the black sky. I have never seen a day quite as gloomy and forsaken as this. Walking further through the forest that fringed the city, I contemplate how things could have possibly gone this astray.

The rhythmic swaying of the trees, the hissing whispers of the crackling autumn leaves as they fall, and the sharp sting of the wind kissing my cheek and it gently fingering its way through my hair all seem to direct my thoughts straight back to her. Even the crisp scent of the brown leaves mixing with the aroma of the sea just over the hills manages to make me think once again of my hand on her soft blushing cheek, her whispering to me in the night, making my heart beat steadily faster and faster as her breath glided along my jaw, her hands tenderly caressing my hair as her perfume slowly drove me insane.

It has been so many years since I have held her, seen her brilliant smile. I thought I would be over her by now—thought I could move on. That was a foolish lie:; I knew it from the start. Despite the inescapable events I could clearly foresee, I tired to move on, and continue living. And now, as these realizations slowly dawn on me, I shiver as the past finds its way creeping up my spine as it chews its way through my thoughts, jumbling them up into a garbled mess.

The last memory I have of her is one of my fondest ones. On a dazzling summer day, we took a walk along the beach as the glowing sunset reflected in the ripples of the ocean, in our eyes, the passion in our hearts. We laughed together as I held her against me and watched the burning sun as it set below the horizon, blood red and radiating against the pitch black summer sky.

Still wistful of things long past, I start heading back to my car, heavy hearted and downcast. With every step I take, my thoughts turn against me, back to the events that occurred after that breathtaking night we spent together. It was a fatal accident, nothing more. Or was it? With her last dying breath I felt my life following hers into the oblivion, too terrified of leaving her side. And now I am left with nothing, just an empty shadow of my past.

The engine groans to life, and I start to make my miserable way back home. Could I even really call it that? People say that home is where the heart is—and mine was with her. And without her, where was I? I realize in this instant that if I could not get over her by now, I would never be able to. Maybe I don’t want to; I just want to hold onto memories of a past once great. All I want is to see her one last time, to hear her say my name once again.

Almost halfway home already and I see up ahead in the horizon the weathered and decrepit bridge crossing over the river, flowing with fragments of the reminiscences of what we once were. I recall our summers years and years before, on the bank of the river as we watched the flaming fireworks bursting in the sky with a fearful intensity and the most beautiful shades of color. We laughed and loved the night away together. At that moment it all became clear, like the river and its reflecting waters.

Smiling now, I twitch the wheel to the right, and the car drove off the road, heading inevitably towards my long forgotten but forever needed memoirs of a past life. Closing my eyes, I sigh and picture her face for the last time, hearing her say the sound of my name as I step on the gas. My dear Krystal, I am finally home.