Apr. 30, 2004 @ 6:35 p.m.

When I think about you or I hear your name, even when it’s someone else’s being called, images of you swinging through the air, jumping and dancing with a smile on your face flood the back of my eyes faster than a shooting star fades into the horizon. Mental images stream through my mind as if it possessed an 80 foot screen that is being adorned with an 8mm movie of you. As you run through various pieces of entertainment, flashing around in silence except for the clicking of my mental projector, playing with a large version of tic-tac-toe on a plastic playground built for children with a smile on your face that's so bright it’s burning a hole on the film. While checking to see if the pot of gold that was resting in my lap is still there, I realize that it feels a lot like your hair. As I look down and see you, you’ve already seen me, already chosen to greet my glance with a smile brighter than ten thousand suns that I'm staring into from six inches away. I read about the afterlife but I never really cared, not until I became concerned with one simple question, "What if you’re not there?"