aligned

I close my eyes and try to see her face. Imagine it– a face I have seen a thousand times.

But no matter how hard I try, I cannot.

I sit here alone in the dark, looking into the abyss. An empty scene. A blank canvas.

I try to paint the first stroke. I flood my mind with words that remind me of her, but together they form an amalgam that only exists outside of imagination.

I listen to a song and let it teleport me to a memory. I find myself on the dance floor at our wedding. I can remember a moment, looking into her eyes. I feel my love for her, and her love for me.

There’s nothing else in the world.

But even still, I cannot visually revisit it in my mind. And no matter how hard I try, I sit here in this dark, empty room unable to see her face.

I never used to get bothered by this, but lately it is enough to bring me to tears. It started as a simple, innocent question of whether or not I could if I really tried. I told myself that of all things, I could practice with what I know best.

I wish so desperately to replay moments of our life from memory instead of digital film, but I am afraid I dream for an impossibility. I wish to see her beautiful face, her gorgeous figure, her white dress, and the freckles in her eyes.

I can instead feel these memories. I can recall the sounds and how I felt. I can recall the connections I’ve made; words to describe these senses and feelings. And despite all this, I am limited by my memory.