I cannot see the point in putting his lips on my lips, when all I can taste is the absence of yours. I continue to reinvent your face in pictures I pass, in the faces of other people and the creases left on my pillow. And every time I see the color red, I think it is an answer from you. I have been assuming you into existence. You are no more mine than the leaves are the wind's. But still I will sit under the trees with you, and inhale your vapor, and tell myself stories about how you transform me.