The setting sun silhouetted our memories in sepia. Within the hues of history, another biography slithered out of its confines to witness its signature shimmering in the sand. The memory seeped out of photographs, sustained by a testimony of love. The revolutionary narration was steeped in the poetry of the past. The voice that lent its vibration to my calligraphy was cloaked in resplendent solitude. Until sepia bathed her memory with the dignity and ideals that could never be tarnished by temporary process of mingling with the earth.