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I must confess to you something: I no longer remember your face. I remember, vividly, every moment that passed between us, all the expressions which must have passed across that face, all the backdrops which framed it. The wind which tugged the hair across that face’s forehead. The shadows which crossed it, obscuring features I once feared, then knew, then forgot. In every memory your face is obscured. My attempts to summon you are an infinite gallery of redundant portraiture, one study done over and over until the colours bleed together. This is where my mind lives. I can see all the frames, but it is as if someone has scrubbed out every face. I cannot make it cohere, the whole picture. What did your eyebrows look like? Your nose? Your chin, did your chin stick out far? I cannot say. I glimpse small impressions from which I lack the faculty of mind to be able to reconstruct the whole. I glimpse a caution in your eyes gradually dissolving into ease over the course a mile of talking; an endearing twitch in your nose that gave me the impression you must experience smells more vividly than the rest of us; a pale collage of bruises dripping blood. Even excluding this last, I cannot for the life of me make these glimpses add up to a face. I remember there was no trace that ease left in your eyes the last time you told me you would be okay. It had become a mantra, the assertion. You told me you would be okay, which proved misleading. This frantic attempt to regain the image of your face consumes most of my hours, a whirlwind in my mind always. I remember you smiling, and my leaning in and halting that smile, warmly. I remember knowing the exact dimensions of your face, the smile and everything else. I cling to the memory of knowing. I remember holding your hand in the quiet buzz of the hospital, though you know nothing of this, in essence you were already gone, you had already written your letter. At the wake I remember speaking to people I did not know, whom I could not believe you knew, telling them with alternating numbness and hysteria that I would always remember your face. Which proved misleading.

Added by Édouard Urcades
Updated 25 days ago

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