I lifted my arms high. Higher than I had ever lifted them. I stretched those tiny muscles near the connective tissue and felt the strain of wet crystallin bones as the pressure of my own effort moved them. My elbow made the smallest grissly sound. I felt the office chair beneath me. I wonder if she is okay? Last time I saw her she had the look of a woman who was heading into a new era of her life. She was conventionally sad but unconventionally optimistic. I miss her. We buried it together. Her still and waiting, me with tears and the effort of a man who had the terrible task of duty. To be the man. To be the woman. This is a trouble to us all is it not? Trouble that we would dearly like to not be one but one it remains. Trouble with so much beauty coiled up in it that none of us would ever choose to be rid of the trouble without a broken mind to convince us. I hope she is over it all. I miss her.