I grew up counting days. Days until I would finish exams. Days until my birthday. Days until I could eat cake. Days until I would become a woman. Days until I would grow up and fly away..
There was one such day. A hot summer day.
I was at my cousins’ summer home. Large open home with small doors.
Small doors but with big hearts.
It was such a hot summer day. I sat on that washing stone and looked up at the sky.
The birds flew by while the cat played her games with a butterfly.
The leaves moved, swaying to a waltz played by the winds and the waves nearby
I counted again. Days left until I would go home. A home I had come to not recognise.
The leaves danced, happy in its everyday life
And I looked up
Into the small doors
And I saw someone with that big heart.
And I realised her counting days
Ended and death came to tell her that.
Dedicated to my very dear Shoo.
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