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A tear slips from her right eye and she catches at a fragment of memory.
don’t doubt. The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.”
Holly’s heart aches with the weight of all the memories she’s locked away.
The way I see it, the ones who feel sorry for themselves don’t survive.
What’s inside her chest beats like it’s supposed to, but it’s just muscle memory. It’s not a real heart, and it hasn’t been for years.
“Sometimes it’s easier to remember sorrow than joy,” Holly says. “Sorrow doesn’t hurt as much.”
A lifetime of memories stir, just beyond her reach, walled off for more than a decade and with enough power now to overwhelm her:
The tears behind her lashes make everything look softer, as if she’s already in a dream.
