Her Black Book

It was something I never looked inside, but something I always saw with her, until a few years ago. It was a forbidden object that only a pen in her hand was allowed to add to. It was a container of peace and security for her. It was a black book that seemed more precious to her than all of the treasures that are buried under the layers of the earth.

I never had access to it until a few years ago. I have never dreamt of not opening it until a few years ago. I would never have wished to know its contents if it was a desire that I could trade with a longer life for her. I would have never wanted to read the black book if it meant that she would remain for beyond her ten years.

She was a treasure who treasured everything. She was a person who wished to know more. She was a girl who wanted to achieve. She was a sister who died too early.

Today is a day of making peace with the past. Today is a day to let her go and only keep her memory. Today is the day to open that door of her room and pack her belongings which has been gathering dust for four years. Today is the day of looking at her precious objects, reading the letters addressed to her, and opening her black book.

Her black book is filled with secrets that she knew. Her black book is filled with symbols she understood. Her black book is filled with stories that have been locked with a key that she had always kept to herself. Her black book is the book that contains inscriptions that she could decipher.

Some things will always be buried in the attic. Some people will always be buried in our memories. Some past times will always be buried for remembrance. This black book, her black book, will always be buried in my collection of memories of my sister's short life.

In the physical world, however, it will spend the rest of its existence in a box marred with tears.