I’ve forgotten what she looks like. I should be happy about that, but I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to forget the face I woke up and fell asleep to for more than a decade. It freaked me out. I looked at some old photos, but there was something missing. Like it wasn’t her. I know I’ve romanticized her, stripped away the flaws and faults; for me, she is simply perfect. And I can’t remember her damned face. All I see this the mockery that apparently is reality.