Each time spring gently knocks on my door, I feel an aching in my chest. I miss my grandparents most when winter begins to fade. Sarah and I have been talking at great length about what remains. What remains after you lose someone or something? As each breath passes, what fades and what holds true? For me, it is my grandmother’s cheek; her right cheek to be exact. I can see every wrinkle, smell the "Shower to Shower" powder she doused herself with, and the red rouge she rubbed into all the beautiful lines and folds of her cheek. This is what remains. This is what holds true. What would it feel like to trace the lines and folds with edge of my foot; to dive down into the creases and roll and around in that gooey pink cosmetic muck? Her cheek no longer a cheek, but a new landscape to explore and embody. You can never hold back spring.