He kept the photo to remind himself of her. The memory disease (he found it funny he could never recall the name) had been eating away in his head for a long time before they caught it, belching out bits of his life into the ether.

There was no saving the ship now, just a bit of bailing left to prolong the end.

Every day (how many days? he wondered) he’d stare at this photo and recreate his lover in his mind. The tiny hint of the graceful legs sent his memory coursing over countless afternoons spent wrapped together. Those legs wrapped around him.

Those legs. That’s right. The delivery room. Twice seeing those powerful legs bear down against the stirrups, fight the universe and damn the devils and force new life into the world.

Memories stir like startled butterflies, beautiful in swarm and individually indistinct. So hard to remember the individual butterflies.

But not butterflies. This photo. He remembered this photo. And it was important to remember.

And he was sure, if he thought about it long enough, he’d remember why.