Thumbing thorugh these photographs, I choke on the dust. First thing I've tasted in seven years. The loving arms that reached to us held freshly sharpened knives and promised us sleep. Lies handed to a family destroyed, destroyed by her absence. This is some kind of sick joke, right? Her blood on the corners of your content smile tells me the contrary. If she could only see me now, this vile object of putrescence I have become. The man who once held her now gives his love to a hopeless carcass, as one deserves another. You have caused this massacre. What separates you from a murderer? Good intent? Well, your golden heart has rusted, and I wait for the day it fails. I have slammed the album shut, I cannot bear to look anymore. How beautiful she was during her last days. I cannot feel myself breathe, and I hope it is not an illusion. Leaving now this requiem, this belated eulogy, in the waters at 34th Avenue, that which marks her departure. I know now that I must set these pictures afire and bathe in the flames if I ever want to free myself of this which you have given me. You watched as the cameras cashed in on the crash, drunk on the blood she left us. You turned away as she was impaled on sheet metal spears, fashioned by the blameless. I hope that call was worth it. I hope your life depended on that sudden stop that took hers. On those sleepless nights, I hope you think of me and what you have done to my family. Seven years of my life have been a constant film loop of that day. I am forced to constantly relive these horrors, and she is forced to listen to her own screams trapped inside my broken soul, and watch me rot from the inside out, dying piece by piece as our windblown hearts fall into the abyss to meet somewhere in the middle. Constantly watching her own son die, as she has. She cannot save me, and she knows it. Heaven save her from this hell.

And heaven save you from ever meeting me.