Fading.

For one long and terrible second yesterday, I could not remember Jeanette's eyes. What color they were. Not at all.

I remembered, then, and the rush of memory was like the breath a diver takes after surfacing. Blue, blue and bright and sharp, like the last clear sky before the first frost.

I have to write it down. Oh, god, I have to write everything down.

(all of these moments will be lost in time like tears in rain)