♡ A Locket of Forgotten Sunlight
The food on the table grew cold. I didn't touch it.
Instead, I lay curled on my side, the locket clutched tight in my hand. The gold edges pressed into my palm, sharp and unyielding, like a whisper that refused to fade.
Two little girls stared back from the photograph inside. One of them was me. I knew it instantly. The round cheeks, the gap-toothed smile.
But the other…
Why couldn't I see her clearly? Her features wavered, like paint blurred by rain, her smile a light I couldn't quite grasp.
A tremor passed through me. I closed my eyes, pressing the locket against my chest as though by holding it tighter, I could force memory to bloom.
And then—like a wound reopening—it did.
---
I was small again, barefoot in a sunlit field. Tall grass brushed against my knees, soft and whispering, as the sun chased us across the open earth.
"Come on, slowpoke!" she laughed, her voice bright as summer wind. Her hand found mine, tugging me forward with unstoppable energy.
I stumbled, panting, but she never let me fall. She was older. Faster. Always faster.
We tumbled together down a hill, the world spinning, until we landed in a patch of wildflowers. Our laughter rose into the sky, breathless and unstoppable.
Lying on my back, I stared up at the endless blue. "Let's never grow up," I said between gasps.
She rolled onto her side, her dark hair tumbling loose around her face. "When we grow up, let's never get married. Just live together forever in a big house with a garden."
I grinned, eyes closing. "Deal."
For a moment, the promise shimmered like sunlight. But then—like a ripple across glass—the memory wavered. Her face blurred, details slipping from me. I reached for her, but she was fading too soon.
Diary Entry:
Ran barefoot in the grass with her today. She's always faster, but I caught a smile from her before she pulled away. Sunlight felt like it wanted to stay in my hair forever. She said we'll live together always, in a house big enough for every laugh and tear. I hope that's true.
---
Another memory came rushing in.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, a book too heavy for my lap, frowning at the letters that swam before my eyes. She knelt behind me, nimble fingers weaving through my hair.
"Hold still," she scolded lightly, tugging the strands into neat braids. "You're worse than a restless cat."
I pouted, but didn't move. Her hands were warm, sure. The tug and pull was oddly soothing.
"Why do you always braid it?" I asked.
"Because you look adorable," she said matter-of-factly, securing the end with a ribbon. "And because I don't want you to look like you've been rolling in mud when we go outside."
I giggled, touching the finished braid with pride. "You're like my mama."
Her hands paused for a second, then resumed, gentler than before. "Then you better listen to me," she teased.
Diary Entry:
She braided my hair today, and I let her. Her fingers were warm, confident, and she didn't complain even when I squirmed. I like that she does these things. She makes me feel like someone is always holding my back. I hope I can be half as kind when she needs me.
---
The scene dissolved, reforming again.
This time, we were older. I sat hunched over a desk, papers spread in chaos, pen tapping furiously against the page. My stomach growled, but I ignored it, too focused on the numbers in front of me.
Then, suddenly, a spoon appeared in front of my mouth.
"Eat," she ordered, her free hand planted on her hip.
"I'm busy," I muttered, eyes not leaving the page.
The spoon inched closer. "Eat, or I'll shove it in myself."
I groaned, but opened my mouth obediently. Warm rice touched my tongue, and she smirked triumphantly, feeding me bite after bite while I scribbled away.
"You're ridiculous," I mumbled, cheeks full.
"You're welcome," she said sweetly, like a mama bear satisfied her cub was fed.
Diary Entry:
She fed me today. I didn't even ask. She just knew. I want to remember that—how she always notices before I do, how she keeps me alive with small acts of love. I hope I never forget this.
---
Another shift.
The bathroom mirror fogged with steam. I sat on the counter, legs swinging, while she dipped her fingers into a jar of cream.
"Hold still," she said, dabbing my cheeks with exaggerated precision. "You'll thank me when you're older."
"I don't like it," I whined, scrunching my nose. "It's sticky."
She laughed, smearing a bit on the tip of my nose. "Beauty is pain, darling."
"Then I don't want beauty!" I protested, but couldn't help laughing with her.
Her hands framed my face gently, her eyes softening. "Too late," she whispered. "You're already beautiful."
Diary Poem:
Fingers on my cheeks,
her hands warm and certain.
She tells me I'm beautiful,
and I almost believe her.
Sunlight lingers in her hair,
and I feel safe enough to stay a child forever.
---
The memories cascaded now, tumbling one after another. Her chasing me around the yard, her carrying me on her back when I scraped my knee, her whispering stories under the blankets when the world outside felt too big and frightening.
And always—always—that promise.
"When we grow up, let's live together forever."
"When we have a house, I'll cook. You'll read."
"No husbands unless they pass the test."
"Promise me you won't forget."
Her voice was steady, confident, the anchor of my childhood.
But in each memory, just as I reached for her face, the edges blurred. Her features dissolved, leaving only light and laughter.
---
I jolted awake with a gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The room was cold. The food untouched.
The locket burned against my palm.
My breath came ragged, uneven. Tears slipped silently down my cheeks as I pressed the gold harder into my skin, desperate to keep hold of what was already slipping.
"I remember," I whispered into the silence, though my voice shook with doubt. "I remember you."
But even as I said it, the details blurred in my mind, leaving me clutching fragments—hair between my fingers, warmth against my skin, laughter in my ears.
I lay there trembling, torn between the past and the present, the weight of the locket heavy on my chest.
And deep inside me, in that aching hollow where memory met longing, I felt her presence like sunlight through clouds—brief, fragile, but real.
She was there.
She had always been there.
Even if I could not see her face,
I could feel her love.
And it was enough to break me all over again.
And in that dim, silent room, with the moonlight catching the edges of gold against my palm, I finally let myself hope.
Because even in the fragments, even in the shadows, even in the ache… I could feel her there. Waiting. Watching. And I knew, somehow, she would never truly leave me.