I did not go to the cemetery today. Instead I drove up the coast to Santa Barbara, and drove through the city remembering her in every place imaginable. From the house on San Pascual, where she came over the first night with Piper while I was living with Josh. I drove to Chapala and Fig, and watched people get off the bus imagining and remembering what it was like to see her get off the 24X with her sunglasses on, always smiling and happy to see me. I drove to the house in West Beach, where we spent so many lazy days together. The tree that was struck by lightning years ago during a particularly stormy winter has since recovered. I went and visited 1134 Garden, and saw her opening our window to toss the keys down for me to open the front door. I noticed the prius taxi that would drive us around and heard her say "red to garden," because she thought that it was so funny that she was in on the taxi lingo. I watched couples walking down State St. on their way to the farmers market. I watched as they held hands and enjoyed the first few days of fall. I drove up to the Mesa to Elise Way. One of the last memories I have of her is standing outside of 2059 Elise Way, watering the flowers in the front yard in her red bikini. I sat and cried in my car as I looked at the front lawn of that house, and noticed that the flowers she watered that afternoon are gone. I drove through the city over and over, and on each new corner I passed a memory that had faded was there again in my mind. From the rainy night we walked to the italian restaurant on lower state, to riding our bikes to butterfly beach. I have used Santa Barbara as an instrument of pain the past year. Each time I feel her fading, I drive up the coast and thrust myself into these memories. More and more time passes between my visits, and I hope that one day I can go up there and not feel pain and simply enjoy the beautiful nature of the town. One day.