Note

I pray that she is young enough that she won’t know about the fire, that it won’t be lodged somewhere deep in her soul forever, making her afraid of falling in love with a home or a beautiful piece of jewelry or understanding too soon that attachment is always accompanied by loss, in one form or another. And yet I don’t know what’s worse… that she may never know this house, the love we put into every corner, the beautiful moments we spent there, the laughter that used to echo in the dining room chandelier, or that she will, in fact, remember it existed at all.