[ baby. when she comes a little closer, he shifts too, and pulls her in for a gentle side hug, a bastion; memory is such a familiar concept, and horror is, too. he thinks for a moment of his own trip all those weeks ago. ]

... I don't think anyone could blame you for that. [ softly: ] Yet... the trouble with our memory is that the longer we do not confront those things, the longer we hold onto them, the more that they fester. The more they find our way to us and haunt us.

But if we release them somehow, someway - in prayer, in writing, in confession to a friend, then... we can begin to let them heal, instead of let them rot. And then, perhaps those kind and warm parts will have room to root in our memories, and grow.

[ there's a gentle squeeze, and he tilts his head down to look at her properly, smiling soft. ]

Thank you for trusting me with your story, Miss Eupha.