It wore her father’s face, and she didn’t mind. It wasn’t here to hurt her. Time had clogged in the throat of this place; history was giving it bad digestion – but a flower had bloomed in this room.
‘Your petals are falling already.’
‘Well, I didn’t mean to let you see that quite so soon.’
‘Well, ya did. You know, you really do have something of him about you.’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘Everyone gets this?’
‘No, we are here, but half the people kicking around aren’t attuned to this frequency, so they don’t get to see us.’
‘That seems a little cruel.’
‘They don’t want to see us, and if they did see us they wouldn’t believe in us.’
‘But I do? Or did? Or … whatever.’
‘Well, you know, you were always pretty cool.’
‘I miss you already.’
‘I know, but you know you can find me whenever you need me – you always knew where to look.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t want you to go.’
‘Sad face.’
‘Yeah, sad face.’
‘But you can be happy too – there’s a mask for everything.’
‘Are you going to be my guardian angel?’
‘Nope. You’re mine.’
She couldn’t speak. She reached out and she touched her fingertips to his. He smiled, and the first warm rays of the sun shone on her he escaped out through the galaxy of dust motes dangled there. Her heart felt fuller, and the bruise there felt less tender.