You probably don’t know this but when you left, your father painted a portrait of you and gave it to me.
Months after you were gone, I got a 5×8 manila envelope in the mail. The blandness of it, the everyday feeling of it, made it feel personal somehow. The hand written address. The special occasion postage stamps. Marco really wanted me to have it. I love the way he loved you.
The blue and orange watercolors seep into images that run through the intentional lines of his pen. It reminds me of your profile. The short hair you kept, a carefully constructed bird’s nest of ink strokes. The length of your profile – that long neck always looking slightly higher as if you could see the nearness of the future.
The fullness of your top lip. Plump and smirking, bringing to life your childlike playfulness.
Your eyes always full. Gushing with infinite curiosity.
Your sweater, a loud orange bursting to life off the page. Just as you burst to life. A lasting impression. Still viscerally felt. Still present on the page.
Just thought you’d like to know.
We are all more alive because you were.