Memories on the Wind
Her memories of childhood were painted not with joy and friendships but with marks of a quiet loneliness. She struggled with friendships, perhaps, in part, because her cheeks were so quick to redden with embarrassment, or because her voice was always hushed to a whisper, unsure, uneven, unsteady. Whatever the reason, she was often an outsider, on the edges, missing and longing. School and studies filled up her hours, day after day. Behind a desk at school, or at home, she would gaze out the window, smiling to herself as the leaves danced in the breeze. She longed for days where she could laze on her back, held by the earth, warmed by the sun, with soft, puffy clouds embracing her, sharing with her, telling her stories.
