There’s something on the ground like fallen heartflakes that strangers trip upon. So many tears shed in the last two years, two whole cycles of slowly getting up and avoiding to crush her own body parts. Now she was almost able to say, « Here is my chin. See? »

With her chin down there were advantages: She could probe sidewalk cracks for darkness to compare hers with, she could see more shit than most people do on a normal day, … and she could notice how nature’s fall had laid a carpet to make her life a little softer.

Yes, that’s what life would do, always. No matter how red or grey or black or rocky her bed, there was hope. No matter if she had to lay down on cement to soothe her vertigo, there was a rise to come. No matter how shot through with rain and pain she was, there was beauty and pleasure to come, too. To come through.

Why was she crying again? Why was she laughing? The wind blew rotten memories along with lively ones, all before her feet so that she could imagine her future steps. Every leaf she walked on let out a sound, a light, a song for her to remember.

Re-member: Put back together limbs. To do so make sure they touch the ground, the walls, the sky first, then re-assemble with the help of some sort of joint.

All of a sudden she knew what she had to do. She bent down so swiftly her palm had to press itself against the ground, and then, despite the spin in and around her head, she carelessly picked up a handful of fallen leaves and twigs and rocks. Standing back up in a jump, she said,

« There comes my heart. Good to feel you back, heart. »