Looking at the photo I barely recognise the girl.
No, she was a woman then, the love and happiness on her face; even just the profile I could see broke my heart.
Did she feel that anymore?
She had to, the animal sharing that moment was still hers, still with her, still sharing moments like that in the image.

But something was different.

She was different.
The feelings evoked by the image broke my heart now.

She would never be that capable and confident again, not after all she had been through.

Would she?
Could she?

There was something inherently absent from herface now that was still in the side view of her face in the photo.
I wanted to give it back, I desperately wanted to take her back to those days,those independent, hopeful times.
The world was her oyster, and she was ready to rise up and claim it.
A little pearl pushing the two shells open to spread her joy and love over theworld.

Studying the image took something from me that I'll never be able to explain,there's a deep void sucking my insides towards it.
An internal black hole of memories of better days.
There would always be something special about those years, that place, thosefriends...
It was an eternal Autumn; colours and foliage that inspired every ounce of her.It kept her going, it drew her out of the shell and let her light spread likeshe had never know it could.

I was sure she would feel it again, but it felt so far away.
Behind us, behind her – behind me.
I wanted to be there, looking at those houses, those beautiful country houses,running up and down that narrow restaurant, perfectly trusted and capable ofrunning it.
The hours at the sewing machine, reading in the gardens, organising perfectlocations for the photographs of strangers in my dresses.
The dreams that are so far away now were right at my fingertips then.

I wish I could tell what was so absent from my profile in this picture, I wishI could be that youthful hope again, the dreamer I used to be.
I'm a different type of dreamer now, one who dreams for smaller things, easierthings. One who has limits forced upon her.
The tenacity is still present, it's just harder to find and grasp.
Even air is hard to grasp, often suffocating the very lungs it's meant to fill.