This time last year Jessica was a close friend of mine in Portland, dragging me to Zumba classes at the gym we both belonged to when I was much more content to glue myself to computer screens. She would dance in class with a jacket tied around her waist because she wanted her butt to be bigger. On good days we hogged the front row and faked like we were leading a lost dance team. When it ended we'd complain about our shorty fires being burnt, before eating burritos covered in red sauce and feeling happy that our hunger was hard-earned. We were fragile in different ways (if for similar reasons) and found ways to ride out Portland's dark winter with some joy in tact. Some nights went long and the endless nights would roll into morning, eating greasy hot dogs from the only diner-type establishment still open on Hawthorne, where we tried to piece together personal histories, present, and pipe dreams of future happenings. She examined my writing aspirations through a lens of confusion, constantly curious about my inability to finish anything. Jessica was never one for the "pause" button. I was sad to see her leave prior to cloud's parting and making way for the summer sun she longed for, but I knew that Portland was just a stop-over for her, a vacation at a non-tropical location to reorganize her head and heart before her teaching career grew teeth. Summer is coming on fast this year, and in the late sunsets I think of her, hurling sandy tennis balls towards ocean waves for her dogs to chase. If heaven is what comes next I'm certain hers has dancing, daydreaming, and long days. I'll miss you, Jessica.