Being me.

A moment of panic.
I try to remember her.
I cannot.
I close my eyes. Try harder. Focus.
She's slipping away...
Stare at a picture. Read old mails. Think.
She's gone.

And then I see, clearly and deeply,
That I will never find her in boxes and frames and structures and thoughts.
She doesn't live there.
She lives, fully, warm as breath,
In my heart.
Where she belongs.

Just being me, is remembering her.
Just effortless, being me.