The Things They Carried

There was a capture their mother had once, of River. In it, she is dancing in a sunbeam, twirling on her toes, her dress a flower, her hair a parasol, and she is laughing. Her face is so lit up with sun, it’s though the light comes from within her, and not from around her, like she’s creating it.

It used to stand on their mother’s desk; Simon must have seen it every single day, growing up. He couldn’t excise it from his heart if he tried. And he has tried.

For he knows he’ll never see that girl again.