I have many pictures of her.

Pictures of the Arizona Robbins I knew and loved.

The one I do love.

They're all of her beautiful smile, her dimples showing brilliantly, golden hair gleaming under luminescent sunlight, blue eyes piercing.

Pictures of our dates, our wedding, our baby, our family.

I have pictures of her sleeping comfortably in our old, oversized bed - cuddling pillows, her legs wrapped firmly, not wanting to let go.

She always did that to me when I was sleeping, I remember that well. I loved wrapping my arms around her slender body, caressing her pale, white skin - leaving soft trails of kisses among an exposed neck or arm.

I have pictures I don't show anyone.

Pictures of her sleeping face, her hair in a tangled mess, her eyes shut with a peaceful expression. Looking at them, I always wonder what she was dreaming about. I kept them close to my heart, encasing our love in a simple snapshot.

These are things I don't tell anyone.

I always look at these pictures to reassure myself. It was fine to keep the promise. Years of physical therapy and chronic pain? So? I could take responsibility for that. As long as she was with me - smiling at me, looking up at me with those divine blue eyes - gazing into my own eyes, all the while sending shivers down my spine, creating a tingling sensation all throughout my body, in my heart.

And she does. These pictures say it all. I was right to keep the promise, I was right to respect her wishes. It was what she wanted, and I would always give her what she wanted.

I open the cabinet to her wardrobe and scan through her outfits. I find myself relating back to the pictures, as I look at her endless blue and navy blouses - the vivid colors reminding me again of those stunning blue eyes.

"Does this look okay?" she asked me.
"Anything looks good on you," I told her, admiring her figure in the tight-fitted blouse she purchased that morning.

She gave me one of those beautiful, bright smiles - one that told me that she appreciated my comment, though seemingly unconvinced.

I smiled and grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards me so I could wrap my arms around her slender waist.

"But.. you know, I think you'd look even better without that shirt on," I told her, slowly pulling up her blouse. I placed tender kisses on her soft stomach, slowly scrunching up the material above her chest.

"Oh?" she asked me, arching her eyebrows, as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

I open boxes of old, worn-out heely shoes - reminding me of the times she skated around the hospital.

I connect these withered objects with those pictures of her.

It brings me to a photo that her little Karev took. A picture of her gliding into my arms.

"What's that?" I asked Karev, fatigued from the long day of back-to-back surgeries.

"It's a camera," he told me.

"Why do you have a camera? Polaroid? Really? I thought we were in the 21st century."

"Oh, whatever. You have no idea how this baby has helped me in the past. It calmed a crisis back in my intern days!" he told me, smirking as he took a snapshot of Meredith Grey filling charts out.

"Which was like yesterday.."
"Callieeeeee!" I heard.

That voice was like music to my ears, a penetrating sound that lifted my heart. I skewed around and watched her slide towards me, in her pink heelies. She had her arms tucked behind her, as if she were a professional ice-skater, gliding on ice.

I smiled and watched her approach, opening my arms to catch her. She gently slid into me, and I wrapped my arms around her, gently kissing her pink, pretty lips.

I smile at the memory, it was the high point of my tiring day. She was always the radiant light brightly shining on my gloomy days.

I close the boxes and go through her clothes. What would suit her now, I wonder? What would she wear today, or tomorrow?

I find her wedding dress in the corner, pulling it out, I remember the happiest day of my life.

The day I married her.

I find the pictures of our wedding, holding the soft material of the dress close to me. I can smell her, and she smells so sweet. Her smell was always intoxicating, no matter the occasion.

I find a picture of our first dance.

"Mmm.." she hummed into my ear.
"Hmm?" I hummed back, smiling at her.

God, she was beautiful.

"I'm just so happy, Calliope. Happy to have found you, this feels like a dream to me," she told me, looking up at me as we slowly danced to the rhythm of the love song playing in the background.

I gently caressed her cheek.

"It's not a dream," I told her.

It almost feels like a dream, though. Those days are just a foregone memory to me - these photos are the only proof that it happened. These photos, these objects, the wedding ring on my finger.

They're proof that you exist.

I embrace the dress in my arms, holding it close to my heart.

I have so many pictures of you, Arizona.

But it's not enough.

It's not enough to quell the unspeakable pleading in my heart. You aren't here anymore. I call out your name, but you don't respond.

I love you, but I wish I hadn't kept that promise.

I wish you hadn't died.

Arizona. Arizona.

These pictures of you just aren't enough.