Dear Liz

I Facebook stalked you tonight. I couldn't find much, because of your charming disregard for social media. But what I found made me sad. Because there was so much I didn't know.

Your hair was long.
Your dog was defined.
You traveled.
You had an orange kitten.
Your porch was old and rickety.
You were besties with your sister-in-law.
You looked healthy.
You were married in a white dress... with a sword.
You looked absolutely stunning.
I never thought it was possible, but you had grown.

I would have had everyone of these details, and more, etched into my own memories had I given in to your pleas, taken one afternoon off, and paid you a visit. I always wanted to, but - as always - typical Kenzi, life got in the way. You would have never let something so fluid touch your relationships.

I opened your safe today. I didn't have time to think about it. I grabbed the key, shoved it into it's place, took what I needed (some old pictures, unrelated to you), and slammed the lid back down, locking it back up before I could let emotion touch me. It felt like it was pulsing. Jimangi style. Like your letters had a heartbeat, buried under the pile of forgotten memoirs.

They started a blog for you. It's called Live a Life Like Liz. It's dedicated to the "pay it forward" mentality and purpose. For strangers to share their experiences. Look what you did with what little time you had. The only problem was the intro, all angels and god and heaven and shit. Not at all what you believed. Come on, people... show a little respect. Anyway, I made my own version: Live Like Liz, L^3... or <3. I drew it on my hand. Next to the sharpie ring. I don't know why I think surrounding myself with bits of you will help, but it kinda feels like I still have you.

Liz, I miss you already. I wish I could've felt this when you were still here. Wish I could've taken advantage. See? You're still teaching me life lessons.

Kenz