text: My fingers trembled against the thin paper that was tightly within my grasp. I unclutched them slowly one by one until my eyes were met with the countless wrinkles that spread throughout the photo like the flu. Today was the most painful day of the year, July 12th. Exactly one year ago today I was in Spain on what was supposed to be the best vacation of my life, with my best friend and lifelong partner, who was taken away from me far too soon. We were swimming in the water, when he suddenly pulled out a dazzling ring from his pocket. I was instantly filled with joy. For four years I had been waiting for him to ask me that special question, and finally that dream was becoming a reality. Then for the next few moments everything was perfect. Just as abruptly as the pure joy came, so did the panic that soon arose. A round of gun shots fired in the distance, more than 20 bullets cut through the air. Screams rang like church bells as commotion broke out throughout the entire beach. I was one of the many frantic people who ran left and right without a sense of direction. However, I wish I could have reacted better to the situation, calmed my mind, and took action like Nathan did. What if I reacted faster would that have saved Nathan’s life? Constantly I get lost within my thoughts believing that his life could have been saved by a simple arm tug, or reassurance that help was on the way for the others. This common thought haunts me and I find myself time and time again, going through various scenarios in my head, about what could have been done differently. I’ve never been caught dwelling in the past but this is a memory I don’t think I’ll ever be able to shake. I would give anything to switch places with him. He deserves to be here more than me. He saved a few people's lives that day. It’s selfish of me, but I wish he wouldn’t have saved those lives, I know it was the right thing to do, but if he hadn’t he would probably still be alive. Leaving Spain was like leaving the old me behind. 2019 met me with devastating problems to face, like keeping up with the cost of our home, maintaining a good work schedule, and taking care of my mental needs. Therefore, the new me wasn't as bubbly, outgoing, and optimistic as the first. Losing someone in a terrorist attack isn't something that you can just sleep on, it rattles your soul. I saved all the money I had for keeping up with our home. It was Nathan’s parents place, and he loved it so much, so I didn't get the proper therapy I needed. My friends told me I should really consider moving out as living in my deceased partner’s home could do more damage than good. Yet, I stayed for Nathan. I began to feel my palms grow sweaty, as the thin paper stuck to my hand like glue. Panic arose in me just like that day on the beach and the stuffy room didn't make the situation better. Horrifying echoes of zooming fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars clouded my head. I remember being pulled away from Nathan’s cold hands when the paramedics arrived, as my legs left the warm water. A searing pain grew into my right shoulder as blood from my wound colored the water red. To this day I shutter at the thought of strong ocean waves, due to its resemblance of the heavy currents that covered my head, while help came to my rescue. Taking a walk down memory lane, I travel to the bed and lay on it for one last time. Thinking about it I realize I haven’t slept in this bed since before Spain. It was too painful to even look at, let alone sleep in when I got back from the hospital, so I resorted to sleeping on the couch. I continued packing up boxes, still clenching the worn photo in my hand. Photo by photo I am reminded of Nathan, as I see a flash of all the memories we had together. I am oddly comforted knowing that maybe Nathan saw a whirl of the good ol days as he blinked for the very last time. For one of the photos I wrapped, I was reminded of my 21st birthday where Nathan and I share a goofy smile, and vibrant pink feathered scarfs tightly fastened around our necks. Then I walked to the next shelf, taking down one of our more recent photos together. It was a picture of Nathan and I opening the door to our hotel room. I was confused at the time on why he wanted to snap a picture of that moment but he blankly responded “Just because my GIRLFRIEND looks so hot.” I raised an eyebrow but smiled. I now understand the true reason he used the word girlfriend so frequently. Most likely it was to savor the word for the last night before beginning to use Fiancé, but I bet if Nathan was still around he’d say “You were looking hot though!” The night before July 12th, Nathan and I went on a date and talked about our future together. I was actually thinking he was going to propose that night, until the waiter bumped into something and the red wine that was on the tray spilled all over my white dress. At that point I figured he concluded that it wasn't the right moment to pop the question. Right before the spillage of the wine fiasco the waitress kindly took a picture of us. I glanced down at my sweaty hand to see that moment, as the crumpled little paper was that very photo. It always holds a dear place in my heart as it was in fact the very last photo taken of the two of us. It remains an essential part of my everyday life as it travels from my wallet, to the wall, to the frame, to the shelf, and now to the moving box. I stare at it one more time before putting it away. Curse you July 12th.