It started small. Scraps of paper, a lost pen, the occasional leaf from the tree she liked to sit under. But now, it's more than that. I have things that are intimately hers, things she probably doesn't even realize she's lost. I don't feel bad about it. She should be honored, really, that I care this much. I'm just holding onto these pieces of her until she's ready to see them again. Until she's ready to see me. *This is a work of fiction*
24 parts