Caia liked lilies. Not roses or daffodils, like normal, boring people. No, she liked lilies, especially callas. She walked to our spot today, a little jump in her normally lackadaisical step. She loved that spot, she took me here every week. The one near the bridge. A little hill overlooking the pond, a bench beneath the trees. Ducks were there sometimes, as the manmade waterfall trickled into the stream, canceling all of the white noise of monotony. The path was clear today. No dog walkers or bikers, not a jogger in sight. Unfortunate, for her. All alone. Vulnerable. At my mercy once again. I'd have her. She was mine, after all. Mi obsesión