When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a great long while. The way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from pillows you once took to comfort, and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes, when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, perhaps forever. Then there comes another day, and another specific part.

You’re like an Asian Snow White, you’re Snow Beige