“I think I was ten when I first saw her,” she whispers. “She… she smiled at me. It was bright outside, and she smiled at me because… why did she smile at me?” The girl trails off, oblivious to the soft and uncertain hand hovering over her shoulder. “I can’t remember,” she says. “I don’t know.”
“I think,” the other one starts, “you know, I think that’s okay.”
“But is it?” she asks hoarsely, turning to face the other girl for the first time. “What if I never remember who I am? What if I never find out who I am? What if I never know? What then?”
“Then that’s what happens!” she hisses. “Then you’ll be who you are! Your memories don’t define you, and what others say sure as hell don’t either! Look at me!” She grasps the girl’s shoulders and her eyes turn softer. “Look at me.”
She blinks harshly, willing away the tears pooling up in the bottom of her eyes, almost welling over. Anger swells at the bottom of her throat, pouring out in hot, choked sobs.
“Crying isn’t weak, love,” she says, pulling her head into her chest. “Crying is what makes you so strong. And even if it was a weakness,” she leans in, letting her long hair drape over the girl’s back, shielding her from the cool night air, “even if it was something terrible, I still wouldn’t care, love, I never would.”