Emily’s Workshop

Do you remember the sunflowers?

What did I say then? I can’t fully recall it now. Part of the memory has worn away, as though a hole had opened in the fabric of it.

The gold in the sunlight was too dazzling to look at directly. The green was so clear and upright, so full of life, that I found myself wondering how anything could seem so vividly impossibly alive. And when something opens into full bloom—how beautiful it is! I used to think that again and again.

The sunflower in my hand gave way beneath my fingers.

No, no—that’s not it.

What I wanted was a sunflower that shone with its own light—a beautiful thing that would glow even in a dark room.

You asked whether I remembered the sunflowers?

I do. I know they are still there in my memory.

It’s only that you were so radiant when you asked that I couldn’t summon the shape of a sunflower at all.