Sometimes, when I'm alone, I put your photograph up on the screen. I gently stroke your hair with the cursor as if it were my own hand. I run my middle finger softly across your forehead and sweep the hair from out of your eyes.

You almost appear to smile, a playful yet vulnerable smile. I run my finger around your ear, gently placing your hair behind it. You seem to slowly tilt your head towards my hand in a childlike pose. I find myself twisting your hair around my finger, making small ringlets that seem to sway in the breeze.

I run the back of my index finger across your soft cheek and wipe away that single tear. Again your head tilts towards me. I place my finger to your lips and you kiss it so softly that I barely notice it. The back of my hand gently brushes down your neck. You throw your head back and abandon yourself to me.