She wondered how many Dans there were in the world, dreaming of things they would hate if they actually got them.
And how many were pushing other people into their delusional idea of happiness?
Instagram seemed to be the only social media she had here, and she only seemed to post pictures of poems on it. She took a moment to read one: FIRE.
Every part of her that changed, That got scraped off because of schoolyard laughter or the advice of grown-ups long gone –
And the pain of friends already dead. She collected those bits off the floor like wood shavings.
And she made them into fuel. Into fire. And burned. Bright enough to see for ever.
This was troubling, but it was – after all – just a poem.
Scrolling through some emails, she found one to Charlotte – a ceilidh band flautist with earthy humour
who’d been Nora’s only friend at String Theory before she had moved back up to Scotland.
Hi Charl! Hope all is fine and dandy. Pleased the birthday do went well.
Sorry I couldn’t be there. All is well in sunny Sydney.
Have finally moved into the new place. It’s right near Bronte Beach (beautiful).
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