Three years ago it snowed in the morning. At the cemetery, while watching my grandmother for the 21st March touch the stone, I had a thought about how elephants walk vast miles to return to touch the bones of their loved ones. Later that night, you braided my hair and said you didn’t want me to cut it. I told you my secret, then you told me yours. We talked into the witching hour and listened to all of In Rainbows, before you were lost between the notes.