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Quote by Snehil Niharika

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That’ll Be Our Song

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Snehil Niharika

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“Slowly, quietly, like snow-flakes—like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night— little flakes of me, my impressions, my selections, are settling down on the image of her. The real shape will be quite hidden in the end. Ten minutes—ten seconds—of the real H. would correct all this. And yet, even if those ten seconds were allowed me, one second later the little flakes would begin to fall again. The rough, sharp, cleansing tang of her otherness is gone. What pitiable cant to say, ‘She will live forever in my memory!’ ‘Live?’ That is exactly what she won’t do. You might as well think like the old Egyptians that you can keep the dead by embalming them. Will nothing persuade us that they are gone? What’s left? A corpse, a memory, and (in some versions) a ghost. All mockeries or horrors. Three more ways of spelling the word ‘dead.”

DeathGriefMemoryIcons
Book:A Grief Observed
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“If I could make the ripples dance to create futures for my sister, I would. As beautiful as the tiny globes of spherical seawater she used to toy with when we were kids--tiny worlds in their own right, of different colors and sizes, floating in midair. I would have arranged everything so she would get a kind and gentle ending. None of them would end with her lying on the ground, helpless and wake. In fact, if I could, I would remove all endings for her. I would give her a way out, a loophole in this infallible mechanism of time.”

GriefShort StoryFilipino
Book:Laut Stories
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“Oh I brought you something,” Trey said. I eyed him with suspicion. He pulled out a slightly crushed handful of dandelion flowers from his jacket pocket. My breath caught. He laid them on the exam table, and I knew he’d continued talking, but I wasn’t listening. I stared at the small, cheerful yellow flowers, overwhelmed with the flood of emotion sweeping over me. “Bones?” I glanced up at Trey, startled when I realized he'd moved closer. He looked at me with concern. “You ok?” I nodded, gazing back at the flowers. My heart ached, and I didn’t think before I whispered, “My brother used to bring me these.”

GriefHealingTraumaBonesDandelionsSlow Burn
Book:Bones
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