A corkscrew floats aimlessly in the pool we inhabit. As she breaks the water, coming up from underneath it; my focus is pulled from that lonely corkscrew and into her face. Accompanied by water running down it, and accented by the gleam of the late night moon. Her smile spread from cheek to cheek, she reached for my face with both of her hands and leaned in moving my face closer to hers for a kiss.

More than one, more than five, let’s call it a make out. The kisses bombarded the edge of the pool, my back was against. Doing her best to demonstrate how fun she could be, we did things she said she’d never done with anyone— That night at the pool. Normally I wouldn’t believe anything like that, everybody says it: “You’re the first person I’ve ever ___ with” or “I don’t usually do this, but you ___” or “I’ve never done this on the first date” take a pick, add a few if you will, but you get the gist.

Here’s the thing though, she was too close to the ‘innocent’ side of the spectrum for me not to believe her words, regardless of the historical evidence I had. Her light paranoia compounded that idea of her inexperience, at-least public inexperience. She didn’t say she’d never done these things, she’d just never done them outside the confines of a bedroom— She’d never met anybody who she couldn’t control herself around. Never met a soul that made her flower sprout like me. Sounds good.

The wine bottle that corkscrew arrived with, was now as empty as my meter for bullshit, and unnecessary noise. Then, the barks of her goddamn chihuahua came in right on cue. A chihuahua that had no business being the pet of a girl as beautiful as her. The very nature of their relationship is almost disrespectful to the beauty ratio. Now, a husky? Yes, that’s far more closer to her style.

A lot of things of beauty or high value might be her style. As they should be. In my eyes at least, aren’t these eyes the only eyes that should matter? Rhetorical. With our highly individual experience and all, that is. The only thing worthwhile at the end of the day is our perspective, our hopes, our dreams, our ideas, our likes and dislikes.

Maybe that’s the wine talking, maybe I’m a little more fucked up than I thought— So, fucked up in fact I’ve left the girl at this physical plane while I breakaway to my mental one; entertaining thoughts that seem more interesting than the moment.

They sat there, silent. Crickets, Birds, and the melodic sound of the crashing river laid down the layers of sound their eardrums entertained. In a reminiscent manner, almost nostalgic; Connor struck conversation about what just happened.

Yara had no want or need to willingly travel back down that emotional rollercoaster they were now sitting at the back end of. She’s never been one for the past anyway, her sights were always set forward; I’m surprised her car even had a rear view mirror.

Connor on the other hand, the rear view mirror was the staple to his life. He hadn’t done much down his road of adventure, so looking back gave him the comfort he needed— Replaying his best memories over and over. For him, what they had just been through showed strength, will, and determination. He found refuge in that fact. Connor, like most people have few memories of fulfillment, few deep experiences; so clinging to the scarce population of them that exist is a saving grace a lot of the time for him. Yara, however— Each road she traversed was filled with thrill. Her life was too interesting, each page after the other, filled with so much content you could write a book. Her, life needed no moments of nostalgia, because these deep moments piled for her like something that piles on top of itself very quickly.

Living like this led her to forget some key memories, the art of non attachment to these things also led to a lack of appreciation for some of these things.

Connor didn’t have that problem.

The days might be a little quieter, filled with more indecision and far more regret. Losing a carefree, motivating factor like yourself would be the end of the striving and thriving you see before you today. Striving and thriving might be as distant of a memory, as the emblem of hope and protection our fair country America used to be.

Salute, a fallen image. Tainted and tarted by these greedy, spineless politicians we look up to. These politicians we put our trust in, hoping for a little more than empty promises. Like the kid who sits waiting for the father who never arrives to save the day, we people sit believing in a future we may never access again; not with these leaders in front of us today.

Nobody to hear rants like these when you leave, when you’re gone; “when” as if you aren’t already. But, I stand here at your casket imagining what you were like. The stability I needed, the emotional glue holding me together.

The shot of euphoria I need at the beginning of each day, the peak I need at the end of each journey through the valley.

The sun rose and set with you here, I’m not quite sure it’ll continue after you’ve departed. Not in this life of mine. A new northern light will need to be attained, a new motivation.

You, will be missed.