The pink sunrise reached its tender fingers out over the dark outline of the horizon, turning everything its light touched into a soft shade of rose. The sunrise itself I knew would grow and strengthen, much like an infant does with time, and now as I gaze upon this tentative light on Midsummer’s Day, I can’t help but wonder at how this sunrise will overpower and defeat all the darkness the night had brought with it.

I let my lazy, sleepy eyes fall from the inevitable penetration of this newborn day to rest upon my hands, curled into a determined shell in my lap. I had stayed out here all night, awake and waiting for the moment the sun would peak out over the distant outline and kiss my cheeks with warmth and welcome. The blanket I’d been wrapped in was heavy with dew, dark where it had soaked in the droplets, an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil the night had seen. I had been sitting for what seemed something like days, ready for the dawn of this tragic morning.

I peeked up at the rising sun. Already the baby glow had strengthened, lending me my own kind of strength. And so, with the sun and no one else as witness, I unfurled my hands with great care and a measure of confidence that had so long been absent. For the first time in exactly one year, I peered at the locket I held there with some kind of self possession, a balance that I had somehow overturned. I peered down at the necklace there in my cupped hands and rose the clasp to my neck. I would wear this now, in sunlit memory of you.