But I cherish these aimless hands and remember the otherworldly ecstasy of holding them the first time.

“I'm your memory,” I tell her, “I'll tell you what you've forgotten.”

If we could just be freeze-framed in this moment, it would be a good way to die.

I beg her forgiveness, serve her breakfast and try to catch a millisecond nap while she eats and watches the “Today” show's glib answers to all human problems.