his wrinkled hands leafed through the yellowed pages of the photo album.

his thumb rubbed over her face as if petting a cat.

she passed a year ago, and now, for the first time in many, many years, he was alone.

he looked out of the window to the sea at the bottom of a cliff and reminisced.

pleasant memories -- that's what made them so painful. seeing her smile and hearing her laugh for so many years. and now, gone.

turning the page he sees the wish list she wrote in her 20s. how long ago it seemed.

on it were the dogs she wanted to own. she never did get all of them, but would never have given up the ones they ended up buying together for anything.

he began to cry when he saw the line where she vowed to marry him. he remembered when he first found the list -- after they'd married of course.

all the places she wanted to visit and live were also on the list. new york. france. even alaska.

she never did get to live in any of those places, or in any of her dream houses.

so when she passed, he went searching. he found a three-story with a wrap-around porch and an accompanying swing that she'd never get to use. the back door lead to a lawn and stairs tracing the cliff down to the sea.

it was just as she described in her list. what she always wanted, always dreamed.

this was where he'd live the remainder of his days. desperately holding on to the very idea of that which was her.