Sometimes I think of her before I go to bed. Her ebony framed face clear, her skin pale and unblemished, so very perfect. An aspect of beauty in the most simple and elegant sense… to think she was my sister.
       I think of her still being alive, of knowing who she would be and what she would do. I wonder about her personality often. She was strong when we were children, strong willed with a beauty that could destroy a thousand buildings. She could have dictated the world with her beauty. She could save all people, end all poverty… she could cause foolish men to wage war and destroy each other for her love. But that never happened, because of my selfishness and my jealousy.
       It is likely better she passed I also think, with what I mentioned of the power she would hold with just a single look. To add to that a strong woman, a woman with a mind that wasn’t afraid to use it against men that were deemed higher up than her… how much power, how much power she would have.
       When I think of her at night, I fall in love. Before I close my eyes and even after, the face of an angelic porcelain doll lingers in my mind. I am in love almost to the point of obsession. Perhaps if she were alive she would lay beside me. We would lay unclothed and our innocence would be apparent. I am uncertain how we would gain back such innocence however; our innocence was stripped before we even left the womb. We would prevail though; if she were still alive, we would prevail together.
       I would hold her hand in mine as we lay naked, a thin sheet draped over our bodies. It would hug her figure, expose her curves. It would rise up her breasts, like small mountains, and then cascade upon her abdomen. The sheet would then travel down her body, caressing her hips, it would move between her legs, it would brush her pubic hair that would leave a dark shadow from under the fabric. Perhaps occasionally I would sit up and gaze at her laying beneath the blanket, my eyes would trace up her body, enjoying each and every part before I came upon her smile. Her teeth, so straight and white, much like my own, her lips thin, her bottom lip protruding only slightly, just enough to give her a small pout. I would finally meet her eyes, what wonderful eyes they were. The deepest brown, like pools of diluted water and they would stare back at mine. We would be so much alike but she would be beauty.
       When I could no longer bear simply looking, my hand would reach beneath the blanket, my fingers would trace delicate patterns on her ivory flesh; so smooth, like that of a child, milky, wonderful. Her perfume would crawl up my nostrils, it would linger in my brain, my thoughts would go hazy, I would enter a trance of ecstasy and desire. We would make love, once again becoming one, there would be innocence in our merge; it would be the opposite of our departure.
       Yes, I still think of her at night when I am alone, when I can think what I wish without care or worry. The world around me will never understand. Yes, she passed, but my love for Elizabeth grows each day. I am upset with myself, for I made a huge mistake, but my punishment is admiration and love for innocence, an innocence that has been lost, an innocence that I will never have for my own.