Zoulfa Katouh

I focus on the hope rather than counting my losses

I have love in my heart because of you.

Do all six-year-olds know what death is? Or is it only children of war?

The way he says my name, pronouncing each vowel and consonant, even now makes me feel like flowers are growing in my veins.

“That’s a flame angelfish,” Kenan points out. “I thought she’d have a friend the color of flames. Could light the way when it gets dark.”

Bury me before I bury you,” he whispers in prayer.

Know that even in death, you’re my life.”

We were in the countryside at my grandparents’ estate the summer after we finished high school. University life was just two months away. The apricots were ripe and we had spent the whole morning filling a dozen baskets of them to eat and to give to our neighbors. We were taking a break, lying on our backs over the picnic blanket and watching the clouds. The sun was hidden behind them, her rays turning the sky into an azure blue. A butterfly flapped her wings and a bumblebee buried herself into a daisy. It was a quiet day, a good day where hopes and dreams would

be traded. Where sweet childhood memories would be revisited.

“Don’t focus on the darkness and sadness,” she says, and I glance up at her. She smiles warmly. “If you do, you won’t see the light even if it’s staring you in the face.”