March the 3rd. 4:37 Pm. 2014. It was a cool day bordering on comfortable, and distant sun was peeking out from between clouds as though winking at me. That day, I thought the world was in my pocket; everything was going my way - I had the girl, the money, the friends - what else could a man want?

"These things happen," they had told me. "It's sometimes unavoidable." There she had been: head on my shoulder, looking out across the street, admiring the architecture. We were classmates; she was getting her degree in architecture, mine... i don't remember. She could go on for an hour about building designs and, to my regret I don't remember anything she talked about; but I do remember the way she lit up when she discussed some such famous builder or designer of rich-folks' houses, the genuine happiness that filled her eyes and pulled that smile straigh outta nowhere when she would see some fascinating columns. I wish I had paid more attention.

That exact minute was the last that I was happy. I think of it every night, and make an effort to go back to that bench every month. Because for a fleeting moment, I can detect the scent of her; I can hear her laughter on the wind and her voice in the murmur of the river there. That moment passes and is replaced with a pain like no other, worse than the realization that life had left her.

Each time I go back, the moment of joy is fainter, the agony increased tenfold. They tell me not to return to that spot; to move away if I must, to erase it from my mind. But that little Pyrrhic joy is the only smile I can give myself anymore. And were it a glimpse of sunlight followed by my being cast down into a pit of flame, it would be worth it.