You will be forever etched in my memory however long ago been buried. Covered with layers of succeeding memories not related to you. But I would, sometimes, like a butterfly flutter my way to your tombstone where flowers lay. But you will not be unearthed. I will, am, as all other things in the world do, move forward even without me willing to. That's just how life is. The world turns and goes about its ways, regardless of the upheavals that lay before its path.
Vanishing.
Acrylic on canvass
2009