52 – Daisies

She hadn’t thought about her for a long time, not since that last bitter yelling match so many years ago.

She remembered the harsh words being hurled back and forth, the smell of alcohol in the air, the door slamming behind her. This scene had replayed inside her head until it took over that whole part of her life.

But today she had discovered her memories had not always been like this.

She suddenly remembered the smell of freshly baked muffins on a Sunday morning, the sound of running water near a picnic table, crying on a soft shoulder over her first heartbreak.

Today a dam had broken and flooded her with shattered fragments of the past she had decided to forget.

She watched the sun setting behind the bay bridge, so far away in time and space from who they were back then.

The telegram still lay on the table beside the vase of fresh daisies, neatly held together by a black bow.

They had both always loved daisies.

She tried to read the telegram once again, but the letters became blurred behind her tears.

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