Elizabeth.

I sit with crossed legs on the dirt trail, my fingers twirling one of the bronze leaves she adored. Though she explained many a time how in love she was with the colour, I still never understood why she admired something that was dead. There are many of these scattered around the sides of the path, displaying countless hues of blood red and burnt gold. Though some are torn and dirty, they still glow with a warm autumn feel reminiscent of the girl who loved them so much.

She told me she couldn’t stay long, but I sat with her anyway, slowly getting to know her as we talked amongst the trees. The forest was her getaway from the stress of real life, somewhere she could forget the ropes time had bound her in. I know she pretended she was a normal girl with me, a girl with hair flowing all the way to her knees instead of the short fake locks that curled unrealistically around her face.

I think, though, that I finally understand her obsession with dead leaves. She wanted to be as beautiful as them in her own afterlife.

I’m glad I told her how beautiful she was whilst living.