Rehabilitated ..x2,

“A year has passed and you still think of her. But you no longer know if the “her” in your mind is the “her” in real life. Memories come in flashes. The way she laughed so hard one time, she fell off the bed. The time she cried at a Christmas advert on TV. You remember the first present she ever got you, a small music box from Venice. You remember her eyes wide, in anticipation, and then in relief: “I love it." You remember smoothing her wet hair from her face that time she came home in the rain; mascara smudged, running down both cheeks. You called her panda and she laughed. You remember her laugh. You remember the nervousness at meeting her family for the first time. Then, stepping into her childhood bedroom, and everything starting to make sense. You remember pointing to a box on top of her bookshelf. "What’s that?” you asked. “Memories,” she said. “It’s a box full of memories.” “Can I see?” you asked. “No,” she said, “they’re things from the past. And that’s where they belong.” Later, you realised that she meant they were memories of the people she had loved. She’d always amazed you with the way that she could so easily move on. “The past is the past,” she liked to say. Now, you are her past. And she is yours. The only difference is that you still think of her. And you cannot help but wonder if she ever thinks of you, or whether you are simply a part of the box at the top of her shelf.”