“I can’t see your face,” he said plaintively.

“Shh,” she comforted, “The doctors say your sight might come back once…once the swelling goes down.”

“No, I can’t see, can’t remember your face!”

She remained silent. His mind twisted over and over itself, sifted through memory after memory, so much useless drivel. Her face was not there. He knew it should be there. Why wasn’t it there?

Soothingly she said, “There was…damage. Y-you’re lucky to be alive, Trent.”

Appreciative for her voice, he offered a weak, lop-sided smile. But inside his soul burned. Of all the pointless memories swimming to the surface, days in the sun and nights in shadow, her face would not come.

Drifting back, he sobbed, “I can’t see your face.” Though the details refused to greet his conscious mind he knew her face was beautiful. He knew his world revolved around that lovely smile. His sun rose and set upon her delicate eyelids. His heart beat to the flush of her cheeks.

But he could not, would not ever, see her face.