I think back on those days. 

Back from our first meeting until the last few days. 

Everything. 

We met purely on accident.

Though I called it luck, a chance, something that might not have been, she always called it a twist of fate, our destiny, something meant to be.

I hadn't believed at the time, but now I did. 

She changed my views and beliefs.

She turned my ideas and conscience.

She affected my whole life.

She transformed me. 

I remember but only because I can't forget. 

The memories that cling to me and drown me but breathe life into me and save me all at once, they never fade or disappear. They linger, always, the first thing in my mind in the mornings and the last thing before I sleep. They stay by my side the whole day, pulling me away from the world and yet the only thing that attaches me to it.

I think back to when she was still within reach.

They are a curse, a blessing, a spell, an enchantment, and so much more that I cannot free myself from yet I am unsure if I want to. 

Her smile, her tears, her laugh, her curses, her bittersweet words, and innocent gazes: they drive me crazy and yet are the only things keeping me sane.

I suffer and suffocate and yet I also feel elated and alive. 

There are no feelings, words, nor phrases to truly explain how I feel, to explain the bitterness at her sudden, permanent departure and yet the sweetness that comes with the blessed and cursed memories. 

There is nothing, but everything to say all at once. 

Slowly, I lift my eyes, lifting them from the ground to the sky that was bright and yet so dark. I opened them, unsure when they closed and unsure if the storm was only from my mind for all I could see was the teardrops litter the ground, feel the drops fall from my cheeks and my shoulders shake.

All I could see was the endless sea of black and the pure white new home ahead, where she would now rest permanently. 

I felt glee from her life and yet there was distinct depression, especially now, watching her without seeing her. 

I move closer to her when it is my turn and yet even though she sleeps so peacefully, hidden under the roof of the home, my heart isn't so I reach a hand out, if only to touch the side of it, to see if I could feel energy from her just one more time.

And yet, brushing my hand against the side of the white home, I find nothing but cold, separating wood, the natural world my greatest enemy. 

Slowly, I take deep breaths, trying to calm my shaky breathing and stop the trembling of my shoulders and the spilling of tears.

And yet, I cannot. 

Because slowly, ever so slowly, I realize that I can no longer hold her.

I can no longer see her smile or hear her laughter or or play with her fingers or feel that soft, smooth skin of her hand within mine. I can no longer watch her eyes light up or laugh with her or plan surprises or look forward to the future or just hear her sing, sing away all my troubles with that voice of hers.

I cannot see her. I cannot hold her or just touch her. I cannot look forward to anything with her. I cannot hear her. I cannot laugh or smile or plan or choose or tease or do anything or everything with her because no longer is she here.

And that fact crushes my lungs all within seconds, stealing of my breathe and life and yet I don't think I mind because without her...

Without her...

And suddenly, the pressure fades and I remember again, like all the other times when I was so close, so close to the end, so close to the finish line, so close to joining her in that new home. 

I remember her wishes, her smiles, her laughter, her singing, her dreams, her hopes, her promises, and her life and I breathe again, filling my heart as well as my lungs with the will to live.

I live not because I am more important.

I live not because I am worthless.

I live not because I am someone she is not.

I live because I am important.

I live because I am worth something. 

I live because I am me.

I live because that was enough for her just as she was enough for me.

And in the midst of that black sea, not recognizing all but a few of the waves, recognizing the faces that tore at my heart because I was alive for them too, to support them, I fall to my knees when I finally piece together just what she was.

I ignore the sea of black and the stormy-but-bright day as I let tears fall, losing strength as I realize that she was not just a female.

She was not just the person I loved.

She was not just the person who changed me.

She was not just the person that could affect anyone with her infecting smile.

She was not just the person which everyone loved.

She was not just the person no one could ignore.

She was a piece of heaven.

Like an angel from above.

She was a piece of heaven on earth.

She changed me, anyone, no one, everyone.

She was a piece of heaven above that fell to earth.

She was my piece of heaven.

And with that, I scream, letting my frustrations, at myself, at her, at the world, fly from my mouth, soaring across the meadow and freeing me yet capturing me a different way.

Slowly, as my voice fades, no longer echoing across the meadow and against the wood of her new home, I breathe hard, tears still pricking my eyes and slowly, I mutter it again to myself, feeling a swell of warmth as it rolled off my tongue in a pleasant yet regretful tone, a bittersweet phrase.

"My piece of heaven."