When I get back out to the living room I feel it. The stench of smoke. It seeps in under the door, invades our home, and threatens my entire existence. I fight the urge to cough. Flutters of panic start in my belly and it has never taken so long to cross the floor of our small place as it does now. I feel like I’m stuck, like I’m moving in slow motion, like I’ll never make it.
But of course, I do. I reach for the handle, ready to get out of there, but…
The photo album! s**t, I almost forgot!
I can’t leave without my pictures of him. My most prized possessions that I look at regularly because I fear his dear face will fade from my memory and slip into oblivion.
I want to remember his piercing blue eyes forever. The way his entire person lit up as he laughed. I want to remember his chin
