the song i sing to myself

caroline. She keeps seeping into my thoughts over the last few days.

When I was 18, early in my undergrad career, she was murdered by her mom's boyfriend. He saw her walking from the shower to her room in a towel, made an advance, and when she rejected him he stabbed her 17 times. Beyond the point of killing her.

Two weeks before, she and I had hung out at a party. She wore glittery eyeliner and had Bonne Bell chap stick. There were a few dreads still nestled in her curly hair, and hemp necklaces around her neck. She was the girl I'd always hoped to be friends with, someday. And we spent the night at the party talking, just the two of us, all night long. I grew closer to her. Just like that, a few weeks later, she was gone.

I think about her now and again, as I do with all my loved ones who have passed on. But for some reason, I think about her all the time lately. I spent time when I was younger processing the incredible futility of how she died, and missing a friendship that never quite reached its peak. Lately, I just think about her face. And her hair. And her demeanor--everyone loved her, and rightfully so. I don't know why she's on my mind--maybe all death is, because I'm thinking about a lot of good friends that have passed away. It's the loss, maybe, that's occupying my mind. The spaces they leave behind. Not what's left over, but what's left undone.