Memories Lost and Found

I remember very little from when I was young. What I can remember is rooted in my mind.

I don’t remember meeting my cousin for the first time. I do remember a million other little things we did together after that. I remember eating fruit off the tree in my yard. It was sticky, and yellow inside, with black seeds. I remember she put it on my nose, and we laughed when I tried to lick it off.

I remember she was too scared of bugs and monsters to explore the bamboo forest with me. Her face through the leaves brushing my face, tickling my nose.  I remember the scratchy dresses we were wearing that day, and how they were rainbow coloured, and we thought we were fairies.

I remember how we used to pretend we were sisters, buying all the same clothes and holding hands wherever we went. The first day we got something different, was the day she insisted on a pink polka-dot skirt that I despised, and i insited on an off-the-shoulder striped top that she wasn’t comfortable wearing.

That was the day I realised we were going to be different. And as we grew I knew I’d been right. She was all polka-dots and pink, I was all stripes and red and black. And it didn’t matter that we were different.

I remember a room in my grandmother’s house, where the sunflower yellow curtains would stain the world gold every morning. As if the sun had swallowed you whole. The first time we slept in that room alone we stayed up late, free of the watchful eyes of parents and grandparents. I remember how we laughed and smiles and got scared when it got too dark, and eventually just fell asleep because we were twelve and there’s only so late a twelve-year-old can stay up for.

You see, I remember very little from when I was young. But what I can remember is rooted in my mind. And I can remember her.


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