Wetting his lips Henry stared into his hands, clasped so tightly they had turned white, he looked to them for the answer.
Waiting for the proper words to form on his lips he stood in complete and utter despair hoping, wishing with the entirety of his being that he could come up with the right words to say.
Slowly raising his eyes to the memory that flashed before him, he spoke,
“My first memory of Anna was in kindergarten. I had never seen someone so beautiful, so…happy. She was laughing, laughing the kind of unrestrained, life filled, sheer, unadulterated, laugh of a child. It was the beginning of autumn and the fading light was filtering through the still-green trees. Her blond hair capturing the light; mussed, frizzy, and dirt filled it formed a halo surrounding her.
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