Please don't remember this.

This body, this face, the clothes I used to wear. That's not how I want to be remembered.

Instead, remember our memories together. Dancing in the rain, Cuddling by the fire, or Singing as loud as possible on the car ride home from Church on Sunday morning. Remember my life, my adventures, my letters I wrote.

Please don't remember my death, the journeys I could've taken if only I hadn't gone away, the letter that tried to explain why I did what I did.

Remember my smile and not the lie behind it. Remember our song, but don't think about how you'll never hear the lyrics come from my lips again. Remember the times you picked me up when I had fallen, or wiped the tears from my sobbing eyes. Do not blame yourself for any of this.

Remember only the good in me, not the slamming doors, broken promises part of me. That's not how you'll want to look back and think of me. If you want to remember me, remember the three words I told you and were true: " I love You." Remember those. But please, don't remember this.