You’d think I would have grown tired of visiting this place long after you died; but no, I still come back to be reminded of you. It happened when you were twenty-something: young and full of hope. We used to play in this forest by the stream in our early teens, chasing each other through the waterfalls and diving in as far as we could manage. I still think about that day in our twenty-somethings; the day I failed to save you. The currents swept you away, as I reached for your hand, but rocks held your body tighter than I ever could. What became of you was more than I could manage to look at; I remember our cries as your body drifted away, every sound you made becoming more and more muffled until there was nothing And I was alone, Nothing around me but the sound of my own voice. I try not to think of it when I visit, and try to think of the happy things, Like the sunshine in your hair as we rode our horses along the shore, Or your laugh when I acted a fool. O, how easy it is to remember, When all you do is wish to forget.