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.