Are there flowers in heaven, Rem? Sometimes I think I’m too selfish, wishing that you were here with me. I look around at this wasteland and wonder if you would be happy, in a place with nothing to break the starkness of sky and sand.

It’s been so long, Rem, and beauty is such an elusive thing.

I dreamed last night. I dreamed that you were here, but you didn’t know me. You saw my face on the poster and the numbers beneath my name, and you hated me. And when I woke, alone in the darkness, I hated me too.

You said we were angels, Rem, that Knives and I had been sent to guide you. You brought life to this wasteland, baptized it in fire and blood and death, the mother of thousands. You sacrificed yourself, and you killed the only woman I have ever loved. We showed you to Heaven in the end, though, didn’t we?

Was it enough, Rem? On nights like this I think I would give it all up, for a single hour with you. Even a minute would fill my heart for an eternity. And then I feel ashamed, because I know that I’m killing you all over again. I tell myself that this is the way you wanted it, Rem. It was enough for you, and it’s not your fault that the memory of your voice makes me weep.

I love you, always. Could you have said the same to me, in time? Would the touch of your hands erase the stains on my soul? I miss you, Rem. And that will have to be enough.