I vividly remember that even in the haze of confusion, my mind went to that scrapbook. All of my supplies were still on my bed. The unfinished book stared at me. It seemed painfully symbolic of the unwritten pages of our love story that were now never going to be completed.
As I read it aloud to his friends and family as part of my speech, I was hoping that someway, somehow, Blake was able to hear my message too. I knew he would have smiled so big and given me a million kisses after he read it when I finally gave him his present. I felt extremely deprived of that moment. I wanted it more than anything.
There have been countless times that I've endeavored to complete the scrapbook since that day. I even went as far as printing out the pictures from our last week together and putting them inside the pages. But every time I tried to get myself to actually make them, I couldn't. Something about it actually being finished upset me. Maybe on some level I thought that if the scrapbook was never complete, it meant that our story wasn't over either.