River.

River.

River.

River. River. River. River. River.

River.

He lay on his back and stared, watching the fan spin in circles over his head. He tried to count. He succeeded. When the numbers began to count themselves, he turned to face the wall and stared again.

The problem with remembering everything was remembering her. When John opened his eyes, he could sit through hours of dreams that never were, if he wanted. As he started to remember the way she moved, he stood up and put on his clothes, pulling on pants and socks and shirt and then wandering into the bathroom. He could see her smile as he watched himself in the mirror, one hand in his hair and one hand on his toothbrush. He could remember the way her hair felt underneath his palm as he ate breakfast and drove to work. He could remember time spent with her minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.

John started dreaming after her. He could still remember the sounds of her pen sliding easily across some undergrad's essay and the sounds of want right before desire. He could remember the warmth of her hands and arms as he hugged her, as he tried to squeeze her until she understood what she meant to him. "Come back!" he'd cried. He remembered the smell of her shampoo and the smell of her coat and he remembered shutting his eyes when he got the phone call so he turned and ran away from the images of a second of death he never saw. He ran away. And as he ran away, he ran to her.

His prayers were answered. His dreams had come back in full swing and he got to see her. Every night, John got his River dreams and every morning she wouldn't be there.

That night, John closed his eyes and dreamt of River.

She stood and her form swam and swum and he reached for her, his fingers aching. When he finally grabbed her, he swore a million times he'd never let her go.

River stood in her great fur coat and when she tried to speak, no sound came out.

"I'm trying, River. Believe me. I'm building it, and I'm trying. I'm going to get you back."

River opened her mouth and nothing came out.

"Oh, River, River, River, River—" he mumbled, pressing his face into her hair. "I'm trying. I just need more time. I'm going to get you back."

River closed her mouth and pressed closer to him. When they kissed, she tasted like ashes.

When he woke, the ashes were gone and so was she.

River.

River.

River.