This is not based on any real experiences, I just made it up when I was bored. . . and probably high, just kidding, read on!

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Her hand is frozen forever,

Clutching the locket.

And now she wears a cloak of dust,

Her eyes have dulled since,

But within them my heart still lives.

An idyllic scene--

The dappled sun dances lightly

On rust coloured locks.

The image itself is like her--

Not perfect but fine.

I remember it, that Summer,

It was at her house,

Her laugh still echoes in my mind.

She gave me that ring,

Saying ‘Please don’t forget me.’

I told her never,

And handed her my locket,

My picture inside.

I still wear that ring today,

I don’t take it off.

Then she nimbly climbed the tree,

Like nothing had changed,

‘Fuck!’ she shouted when she slipped,

And was left dangling.

We couldn’t stop laughing, and

I grabbed my camera.

‘Don’t take a picture!’ she yelled,

And wriggled madly,

Laughing, clutching the locket.

Snap.

So now she exists only

As a photograph.

I hope wherever she is,

She sees the locket,

Sees my picture inside it,

And remembers me,

And the days we spent laughing,

In the sun.