"Come wander with me, she said,
Into regions yet untrod,
And read me what is still unread
From the manuscripts of God."
She was like that, I contemplated affectionately as I inured myself to the grief of her parting words. They played with the trajectories of a longing mind, the diffracted rays forming kaleidoscopic patterns on the mahogany table, paintings of her gentle soul. For a moment I thought I heard her vibrant laughter. The unrestrained freedom of it. The cadence of it. The intoxicatingly sweet rise and fall of it. Even in my head, she was hopelessly beautiful. And in my head, she was still mine.