She moved through the passage of time like a feather on the wind. Nothing could predict where or when she would turn up next, and when she had the grace to flit into your life, if you so much as blinked, you ran the risk of her flitting out again before you could say hello. This is what defined her, her will as fickle as the wind. And this is what undid her.
Much like many others who let their course be determined by unknowable forces, she met an early demise, filled with tears and regret, but possibly worst of all, no one to remember it by. Unknowable are the tragedies she suffered, and unthinkable were her struggles. This is what we know, and all we know.
Regardless of how she came or how she went, there are snippets of her life that can be quantified. Bits that can be retold, remashed, reprocessed, and put together into a new form so that she is not totally forgotten. And I could tell you those words. But I won’t.
To share with you words that have passed do