I know your face. Every wrinkle, every curve. The arch in your brow, the hollows of your cheek. Even in dreams, I can paint you with my hands. I smear blue-indigo watercolors into the air and paint the lilts of your voice. I breathe you in, the smell of autumn leaves and old books. I whisper your name. But everything washes out, I wake up, and find that time will not let me forget. Yes. Stay. I think I loved you. Don't say a word, memory. Just come over and lie here with me.