I once knew a place called Parados where we used to play among the hills as children. She and I up far away, our days under a sun that always shone. Playing, dreaming, imagining lives we could live. Hers and mine.

Fingers swishing back hair fallen on faces tilted upwards eyes narrowed from sun glare. Feet hard from ground rough and thorns wedged in between toes and heel. Limbs supple from trees climbed between field grass played by restless wind. Rocks skipped on water always moving, always searching for something perhaps found, maybe not.

Those eyes they have closed to pain. And opened to see so much more. And I hope they will always know beauty. And always see in spring colours.