by Mel George
Remembering you is like picking blackberries. Each memory is sharp, and sweet, and refreshing. But to pick one requires a dive through the brambles. Pricked fingers and scratched arms that still sting while I’m chewing the berries. They don’t come quietly; there’s no sweetness without pain. Some days I brave the thorns and enjoy them; some days I look for some friendlier fruit.
Mel George can usually be found on a train. Random bits of her writing are scattered in various places, including here on 6S, and at Every Day Fiction. She edits The Pygmy Giant, which you should visit if you're British and love writing.