I remember the landscape of those windswept autumn evenings as I sat alone, terrified. The same view in spring from my hospital bed. I remember the longing; longing for the the place you told me you would take me when I recovered. Though the lights of the amusement park sparkled in my horizon it was always across the world for me, always out of reach. Like an enchanted world in a glass globe I could only dream about.

But a miracle was granted, a year later in September slowly I began to recover.

At first I was hesitant, afraid to go back there, alone; without you. But I was determined my life would not be ruled by fear. That it would not be terrorized by illness or medical institutions and not by heartbreak.

I wanted to go back because it would mean I never gave up, I never gave up despite everything I lost, the dream to live again.

I wondered half amazed through the grounds of the amusement park. The rides had been closed but the gift shops and cafes though nearly deserted were open.
With the cool shadow of the roller coaster and space shuttle at my back I sat at at the cafe's terrace still illuminated by the warm rays of autumn, an order of hot chocolate and cinnamon roll shared absentmindedly with the unabashed sparrows ruffled on my table.

I knew where you would have taken me the picture was always a postcard in my mind; the late afternoon sun still golden on that rocky hill outside the fair, far above the distant city in our view. Just as beautiful as you had said.

I would have sat with your hand in mine snuggled up to your duffle coat.

Now I had to be content with having survived the year, without you.