Dr. Nasey.

There is a painting that sits on the edge of my bed which has never been finished.

On the canvas, you would be able to see a gentle sloping hill that is meant to overlook

a lake with geese flying down upon it, coming home from a long, overdue winter.

But there is no lake, nor any geese.

Only the half-formed slope of the hill, with two figures standing upon it and watching

the skies as though anticipating the arrival of the flock, the painting is a reminder of

a wound that for too long I have refused to let heal.

My ex-fiancey, Tori, is the one that intended to finish it, and the two figures holding

hands in the gentle brushstrokes are us in happier times.

You just wait, Nolan.

That thing will be my masterpiece, she always told me.

We were meant to be married in the spring of 2011, after a romance that was probably far

less adventurous than I cared to admit.

I fell in love with her because of her free spirit.

She was the type to go off into the unknown at the drop of a hat.

It was exhilarating.

I never really knew what it meant to live in the moment until meeting her.

Her dreams were just like that painting, an unclear horizon waiting to be explored and

conquered by sheer ambition alone.

I remember trying desperately to keep up with her sense of excitement as I planned my own

future, to be as carefree and exuberant as her.

...