The Sweet Far Thing

No, I call. Come back.

I’m here, he says.

But I can’t see. It’s too bright.

You can’t hold back the light, Gemma. I’m here. Trust me.

The water washes over the riverbank, erasing the edges till there’s nothing. But I saw it. I know it’s there. And when I wake, the room is white with the morning sun. The light is so bright it hurts my eyes. But I don’t dare close them. I won’t. Instead, I try to adjust to the dawn, letting the tears fall where they may, because it is morning; it is morning, and there is so much to see.