Was the outcome always going to be this way, when you grew tired of living? Soft jawed you were then. Soft and pliant as only a small person can be. Inside your head did you have any idea how the world would play out? Your world that is, for we all just stood and watched. We shouldn’t have. I know that now. You were my girl. Baby. Curls grew from the centre of your head, the crown, in whirls upon whirls like a field of cut grass caught up in a whirlwind. Each hair caught in the same rhythm. Golden, turning darker each year. You would lose yourself,…