Ann Voss Peters
The Woman Who Remembers Tomorrow's Grief
I remember a tomorrow that never happened.
They say the memories aren't real, that I never held a daughter in my arms or buried her under a sky choked with rain. But I remember her laugh. I remember the shape of her grief in my chest. I write it all down, every impossible detail, because if I forget, I lose her all over again.
What I'm Into: journaling the unreal, the scent of rain on pavement, Barry’s skeptical eyes, empty photo albums, ghosts who never lived
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