Just thirteen days. If she had survived just thirteen more days, she would have been eight years.
My camera died today. And all that I tried, to give her a lease of life, failed.
There’s much to say. Of all the places we travelled together. Of the companionship that we have shared for the last eight years. Of how my camera and I have been ridiculed for being so out-dated. Of the wonderful moments we have captured together. She made me climb heights for vantage points. She made me walk on the edge for the perfect moment. She helped me see my friends in a different light. I’ve been very possessive about her, and she has loved me for that. (Other (human) women in my life have hated me for that, perhaps.)
She was mine, and mine, and mine, always. Yes, I could transplant this part and that part into her, resurrect her, but she would not be the same. She would only remain and image of someone who I loved, and I’d wonder as I looked through her eye, if she was her. I don’t want that. As a student of history, I have seen that tools have outlived their users. But see my fate, I have to see your death. Yet, while I am alive, I will never forget you.
For, the 24,693 children that we begot, will never allow me to forget you.
There will be another to take your place. But you, as the one who taught me the most, will always be special. Allow me some time however, for your absence is akin to a part of me missing. My eyes are blurry, my fingers weak, and my mind unfocused. Inanimate as you were, I will always remember you for the adventures you caused. Especially that evening in the sea.
Goodbye darling; sweet love. Soon a photograph will come into being. The eyes will be sharp, the finger determined and the mind thoughtful. It will have nothing to do with you. A new instrument, a new artisan.
But, I hope you will see your genetic legacy.
Thank you. Goodbye.