If I fly, I fly for freedom.

Sometimes I see you in the stars, and I see you in snowflakes sparkling in the wintery wind, and I see you sometimes in my eyes, as though they remember precisely how your reflection appeared in them.

And then there are those painful sometimes when I see you in other people. When you appear in a shopping mall, or you appear in my living room as I watch how my step-brother's girlfriend talks so passionately about a single subject, with her short bleached hair, and her pierced mouth.

I remember when you used to talk like that, and your mouth would open wide as you spoke and your tongue ring would appear so obviously and I used to get a sting of embarrassment because I could feel them judging you and I hated that. I didn't want anyone to think badly of you.

She's sitting in the living room tonight speaking about religion and ethics and she made a political joke before laughing as though to say "how ridiculous this world that its actually comical!"

Just. Like. You.

She even ducked her head down and threw her weight to one side just slightly, and that's when it hit me the hardest, because I loved that about you. Those slight moments of joy, I loved them so.

I thought about naming my daughter Celia.

Only because if she were to have your magnificent qualities, I would be so proud. But then I remembered that your magnificent qualities are a result of your painful understanding of the world that brings you so much agony, and I don't want that for her. I don't want her to have to fight as hard as we have, and to feel the darkness.