I miss you.

I sit and I wonder when the next time I can see you will be. It won't be during the summer with lazy days on the Delaware or at Leonard's house for a barbeque we both used to feel too cool to be at. It won't be in the winter upstate in Syracuse sledding down treacherous terrain, shopping for bargain lotion at Target, playing video games until our thumbs hurt. Although it won't happen anytime soon, I see you everyday. Mostly through little things, the sparkle on a river, a kind old man, a book, my camera, a warm and gentle breeze. Sometimes the signs are goose bump causing incredible. The world keeps moving and so do you. You were too fascinated with it to stop. Instead of moving on, I am moving with... With your spirit and inspiration and love. I love you always and you will be forever with me.

Sorry for the improper sentence structures. Thoughts from my head to paper.
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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry