I grab the dark green sweater from her bag. Holding it close, I get her notebook from my desk. I open the front cover and admire the beautiful calligraphy. I turn the pages and find dozens upon dozens of poems, artwork, and stories. Some of the pages were stained with brown or red from the tea she always drank. I set the sweater on my bed and go back to the bag. There were very little contents, but their significance made up for it. I grab the topmost item and pull it out. Her key necklace. Even with the black paint chipping away, it was still beautiful. I place it around my neck and dump the bag over. Out spills all her crafting items, notebooks, jewelry, and books. I trace my fingers over the covers of the books and set them on an empty shelf on my bookshelf. I untangle all her jewelry and set it aside. The door bust open.
—
I wake up in a cold sweat.
