Sometimes there are moments that seem to last forever. She had memories that seemed to follow her everywhere. Some of them were like scars on her life, reminders of foolish things she had done in her past. She did her best to forget them, leave behind the follies of her youth, just as we all must do.
Occasionally though one of those memories would catch her by surprise, like catching sight of an old childhood scar on the arm or the leg. Mostly it passes without really registering, but occasionally the mind is pulled sharply back to the time of the incident that caused the scar. There was one – on her knee – that often took her back to finding herself bewildered and bleeding at the foot of the garden steps, her leg somehow entangled in her tricycle and bright with dripping blood, and strangely – always the bright blood-red roses on her mother’s summer skirt as she knelt in front of her to lift her away from the hard concrete.
She has other memories that have left their scars on her memory, rather than her body. She recalls that time, standing on a railway platform holding her cases as he walked away from her, never looking back. Sometimes, she wished she had learnt from him about how never to look back and how to just walk away.
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