She remembers a time when she was happy. Those memories mock her. They laughed at the cynical hollow thing that she had become. They came to her every morning when she passed the sun dresses and colourful scarfs for the black hoodie that hid her face. And every night when she stayed in and ignored those who used to be her friends.
It was because she remembered who she was that she knew she was changing. Feelings she had not felt in a long time were melting her shields. She was no 6 year old running under a sprinkler but she remembered what joy felt like. It felt like sunshine was bursting out of you. It felt like you did not need anything and would never need anything again.
She started with small smiles at people she had barely glanced at before. The coffee lady, the grocer, the baker. She checked in with her friends. Even made plans to celebrate the new year at a dinner party.
The best day of the good days was when she pulled out a sun dress. It was a crazy loud floral pattern. And then she called him.
They met at their cafe. He was happy to see her, a little thinner but so was she.
‘I wanted to go see her. I started many times but I could not do it. I still wake up at night sure that I’ve heard her cry.’ She said.
‘Me too.’ He understood.
They walked to the yard by the little church. Her spot was a flower garden filled with lilies and roses.
‘Your mother takes care of it.’
It read Angela Chesire Kimu, our light in the tunnel of life.
She knelt at her baby’s grave and finally allowed herself to mourn.

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