The bookstore is closing down. Now I'm not sure what to think about anything anymore. I bought all of the books you and I once spoke of. A souvenir I suppose you could say. But, I haven't found the strength in me to open any of them. I journeyed alone to town the other day, saw your older brother, but I don't think he recognized me. It's been four months since you've been gone, and I still smell you on my skin. There are days now when I manage not to think of you. When the call of my books are stronger than the needs of my own heart. This time of year, there is life everywhere. I find you in all of it, as if you were still walking home to me.