will stay up, at night, and wonder how she is..wonder if her face has changed, if her eyes have kept the laughter between her lashes. You will wonder if her skin still smells like her soul..like pressed flowers, and coffee just when you need it most..if she still seemingly captures the whole world's glow in a rare smile, the way her shutterbug lifestyle propelled her to do so.

You will wonder if anyone else will warm, from the insides out, as her lips pass on old secrets that make hearts skip a beat. And you are convinced that no one else will feel her reason the way you once did. But you, of course, are wrong..because she will have kept forever tucked in, beneath her bottom lip. She will drop lines and beats at the sound of an.."I should tell..", with very little haste, very little carelessness, and all sincerity. She will spin. She will always spin..the colors and words will follow, as she spins. Her shoes will click clack and bring her Home, on an old string balloon. She will sing. She will always sing..there is music in those petals and morning jolts.

Sometimes, you will chance upon scrap, or a picture among albums and memory cards, of her. You will not recognize her shorthand, you will concur that her smiles are no longer rare, but they flicker all the same..she will keep the world's soul in those shutterbug eyes, and be in perfect synch with the cosmos.