Names I lost, Stars I Count

Almost-fifteenth-year-old Anna Johansen cries, weeps for what has been lost and for names in which she counted every night under her muffled breath; trying not to be exposed, the girl cried underneath the pillows -- naming the stars in which is now above her, by where in which the sky is. But, reader, she has to know. Crying and counting the loss is ain't about death; it's about in which to remember the loss and recall, sing the memories they once had.