I wish my words would fill your ears like the air in your lungs; that they will stay hidden in the joints of your limbs, within the pores on your face, tugged in the cavities between your teeth, and they would resurface on certain days and certain insignificant moments�when the leaves crackle beneath your feet; when a stranger on a bus turns and locks her eyes with yours in a split second before she looks away; when a car passes you by and you turn to look for the driver but it has already gone.
I wish these words would travel past your ear drums and form pictures in your head. I wish these pictures would stain everything you will see in your life into a soft sepia tint, that you wouldn't notice, that for long while after I'm gone you will find it hard to get used to clarity again.