There's a ribbon on my pencil case to remind me of you -
it nearly fell off today. I panicked and fell to the floor,
scrambling on hands and knees. I was desperate not to lose
that last little reminder – the only scrap of your
memory that I could still call mine. I found it
quickly, of course – the red and pink stood out against the grey -
but the shriek of that surge of loss resounded
in my head, and I decided not to spend another day
floating.

"If you will not come to me," I whispered, the ribbon in my hand,
"then I must come to you. I took the first step, and
now I am on my way, following every sign
pointing in your direction. The ribbon trails behind,
floating.